


You Wish

by mahbecks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Jokes, Birthday, Could Be Canon, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Humor, Kissing, Language, Matchmaking, Oral Sex, Romance, Surprise Party, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor’s name day is coming up, and her friends and advisors are insistent upon celebrating. But it has to be planned in secret, as Evelyn insists that they have more important things to do than plan parties. They have ten days to make it happen while she’s away, but will that be enough time?</p><p>And can they finally convince Cullen to confess his feelings for her?</p><p>Rating changed to E for last chapter - you know what that means! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - To Ball, or Not to Ball?

“No.”

“But Inquisitor, think of it as an opportunity!” Josephine protested. “Nobles from all over Thedas have been clamoring for your attention for weeks now. Months, even! This could be the chance to get them all together in one place for a celebration! Think of the alliances we could build!” 

“No.”

“Josie’s right, you know,” Leliana pointed out. “There are rumors floating around about the Inquisition’s lack of celebrations. I am afraid we come across as quite the serious group. A ball would do much to change that reputation.” 

“…Leliana, we ARE a serious group. And no.”

“It would be good for morale…”

Evelyn looked up at her Commander, appalled. “You too?” she demanded, scowling at him. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, not quite meeting her in the eyes. “I at least thought YOU would be on my side!” 

“He has a point, Inquisitor,” Leliana interjected. “Our soldiers bear the brunt of our efforts. If we were to allow them a night’s respite, one short rest from their duties…” 

“So our numerous victories mean nothing to them?” Evelyn snorted. “That’s good to know.”

“Your victories have done much for our cause,” Cullen said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that people are scared. Until Corypheus is dead, things will remain tense. Everyone knows how much is riding on the Inquisition.” 

“And you think a party will make things better?” she deadpanned. 

“A ball,” Josephine clarified. “A party is a gathering of close friends.”

“So let me see if I understand you correctly,” Evelyn said, holding up a hand for silence. “There are multiple rifts in the Veil, and demons are roaming Thedas unchecked. Orlais is in shambles after the civil war, a Tevinter cult wants my head, and an ancient darkspawn magister is attempting to go into the Fade and become a god. Oh, and he also happens to have an archdemon at his disposal, as well as hundreds of Templars he’s force fed red lyrium. Did I miss anything?”

She walked up to the war table, placing her fists on the map angrily – one on Ferelden, and one on Orlais. She scowled at her advisors, putting as much disbelief into it as possible. “All of that is going on,” she continued. “A literal shit storm of epic proportions – and you want to throw me a ball? Because I’m turning a year older?” 

“Yes,” Josephine and Leliana replied at precisely the same time. 

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at Cullen’s silence. He cleared his throat. “It’s not a bad idea, but it’s entirely your decision,” he said quickly. Josephine’s eyes were like daggers over her writing board at the betrayal. 

“Thank you, Commander!” Evelyn said, smiling. She turned to her other two advisors. “It IS entirely my decision, since it’s my naming day! And no, Josephine, I do not want to throw a ball. Not in the slightest.”

“The opportunities-”

“Look at this!” Evelyn pointed down at the table; there were probably a hundred small tokens on it, emblems of successful missions, alliances, and spy networks. Josephine’s bell was prominent all across the board. “You are an incredible ambassador, and we already have many allies! I am fully confident in your ability to draw in more! Without my needing to wear a frilly dress and drink Orlesian punch.”

“Frilly?” Josephine repeated; she sounded a token forlorn at having her hopes of a ball dashed. “You would not wear frills, Inquisitor – the current fashions all favor corsets.”

Evelyn sighed. “That’s not the point,” she muttered. She was developing a headache; they’d already been here for hours, and she was ready to find something to eat. “So it’s settled then? There is to be no ball.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” 

“Good,” Evelyn said, nodding once in finality. “I’ll leave for the Emerald Graves in the morning then. I plan on taking Solas, Cassandra, and Cole with me. I’ll report in as soon as I make it there.”

“Very good, Inquisitor,” Leliana replied. 

Evelyn turned and walked out of the war room, making a beeline for the mess hall. She couldn’t help but sigh in relief as soon as she was out of earshot. Really, what were they thinking? A ball? In Skyhold? They couldn’t afford such an extravagance, not with all the modifications that would have to be done. Besides. She’d just gotten done decorating her personal quarters with Vivienne, who had insisted Evelyn use her expertise at keeping up appearances. She did not want to have to go through with that again with an even larger canvas to cover.

Yes, she’d really dodged an arrow with that one.

* * * * *

As soon as Evelyn was gone, Josephine whirled to Leliana, a frantic look on her face. “Are we really going to do nothing for the Inquisitor’s naming day?” she asked quickly. “We must do something!” 

“You heard her,” Cullen said quietly, stacking up the reports the other two had given to him to read over. “She doesn’t want any kind of celebration.”

“But she is the Inquisitor!” Josephine protested. “To NOT do something would be seen as a slight!”

“She wouldn’t see it that way. She feels she has more important things to be out there doing,” Cullen reminded her. 

“Even you said that this was a good idea, Commander,” Josephine retorted. “Though you were quick to abandon ship when you saw Evelyn’s disapproval.”

He flushed at that, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Yes, well,” he broke off, not able to put together a proper answer. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “This is a travesty,” she muttered.

“I agree.”

The Antivan looked up, surprised to see Leliana deep in thought. “Yes?” she asked cautiously. “With me, or the Commander?”

“She does need some kind of celebration,” the redhead said, looking up at Josephine. “Not a ball. Something… more intimate.” She walked closer to her old friend, a conspiratorial glint growing in her eyes. 

“Something with the inner circle?” Josephine suggested, catching the other’s drift. 

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “And a few more. We will invite those she spends the most time with.” Her eyes flashed at Cullen, who was watching the exchange suspiciously. “It must be kept a secret.”

“A surprise party!” Josephine decreed, delighted. She grabbed her pen, immediately beginning to draw up a list of those who would need to be told. “How wonderful!”

“Commander, how long was the Inquisitor planning to be in the Graves?” Leliana asked.

Cullen blinked. “Ten days, I think,” he replied. 

“Good.” Leliana turned back to Josephine. “We have ten days to plan this, ten days to make this perfect for her.”

“Ten days is more than enough time!” Josephine. “I just need to make a few arrangements, call in a few favors…” Her mind immediately began to turn, thinking of people she could contact for the Inquisitor’s favorite foods, her favorite wine… or would the Inquisitor prefer beer? She’d have to ask around. 

Leliana nodded. “Let me know if I can assist you,” she said, moving to return to her tower. Cullen made to follow her.

Josephine cleared her throat just before the two of them crossed the threshold. “Not a word,” she said, doing her best to sound threatening. “No one speaks of this!” Leliana smirked; she knew Josephine’s words weren’t really meant for her. She could keep a secret until death. After, if need be.

No, the Antivan’s threats were solely for their Commander, who had the grace to look bashful. 

“Of course,” he said quickly, surrendering. 

“Good,” Josephine replied, all smiles once more. “I will contact you if I have need of you.” 

She grabbed the reports she’d brought to their meeting, haphazardly stacking them and bundling them under an arm before she returned to her office. They were dropped heedlessly onto the desk as she sat in her chair, eager to begin the preparations. It wasn’t everyday that she got to plan a celebration, after all. Alliances and trade agreements were fun, but parties… it was a portion of her talents that she rarely got to exhibit here in Skyhold.

She motioned to a messenger who was standing in the corner of the room. 

“Yes, Lady Montilyet?” 

“Bring me Madame de Fer,” Josephine instructed. “Tell her that I require her assistance with a most delicate social event.”

This was going to be marvelous.


	2. Secrets in the Broom Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine begins the process of incorporating all the members of the Inquisitor's inner circle into her devious plans for the party.

Day 1

 

“You’re shitting me.”

“I… assure you I’m not,” Josephine said, raising an eyebrow at Varric’s turn of phrase.

“Then you’re serious?” the dwarf asked. He was clearly excited; he’d pushed aside his latest manuscript and the various source notes on his table, giving her his full attention.

“Quite,” she replied. She tapped her writing board once with her pen. “It is going to require everyone’s full efforts, as well as full secrecy. The Inquisitor must not hear or see anything out of the ordinary until she makes it here.” She motioned to the Great Hall. “This will be where the main event will be held. We will have additional food and drink for the rest of the Inquisition in the courtyard.”

“You know that the Inquisitor hates it when people make a fuss over her, right?” Varric asked. He chuckled. “This is such a terrible idea.” He grinned at her. “I’m in. What do you need me to do, Ruffles?”

“You know card games, yes?”

“Oh, I know a few.”

“Good,” Josephine said, writing a note on the page before her. It was already full of scribbles and personal memorandums. And this was just today’s page. She had an entire other stack locked in a drawer in her office. “Do you know any other sorts of party games that the Inquisitor would enjoy? I was hoping I could leave you in charge of our entertainment for the evening.”

“That depends,” Varric said thoughtfully. “What kind of liquor are you serving?”

“That has yet to be determined,” she replied. She had decided to put Dorian and the Iron Bull in charge of alcohol, and she hadn’t talked to them yet. They were on tomorrow’s agenda.

“Well, you gotta get the right stuff,” he informed her. He leaned forward in his chair. “If you’re playing something like Wicked Grace, any old drink will do. Because drinking isn’t a consequence for doing something wrong. But I’ve got a couple games in mind where we’ll need certain… stuff.”

“Stuff?” she repeated. That sounded ominous. Nevertheless, she turned to a new page on her writing board. If there was going to be a list, she intended to get all of Varric’s suggestions.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “There’s this one game I know, pretty popular. There’s a version of it everywhere I’ve been, though they all call it something different. It’s called ‘I Never’. Someone thinks of something scandalous or rotten they’ve never actually done, and then they share it with the group. And then if someone else _has_ done it, they have to drink!”

“So it’s designed to make people uncomfortable?”

“Well, the real point is get smashed,” Varric chuckled. “But yes. Exactly. So we need something strong for that. I’ve heard of this one liquor. It’s called Dragon Piss, and that’s exactly what it tastes like.”

“Where on earth am I supposed to procure that?” And how did Varric know what dragon piss tasted like?

A better, more pertinent question – how was she to make sure she wasn’t buying actual dragon piss?

“I dunno,” the dwarf said thoughtfully. “We found some in the Fallow Mire. I wouldn’t look there though.”

“No,” Josephine said. “I doubt corpses sell alcohol.”

“Of course you also have to get Grey Whisky,” he continued. “Hawke’s Warden friends told me that they always drank it before battling darkspawn. It’ll be perfect for ‘A Truth or a Dare’.”

“A Warden spirit? Maybe Blackwall would know where to acquire some?”

“Oh, he knows where he can get it.” He fixed her with a pointed smirk.

Josephine couldn’t help the rosy flush that crept onto her cheeks. Did even Varric know of that?! She’d thought that she and the Grey Warden were being discreet. Well, there was that time in the stables… that had not been so discreet. She cleared her throat. “You know of other games, yes?” she asked. “Tell me of them.”

“Easy, Ruffles,” he said, chuckling again. “I’ll stop. Have you ever heard of ‘Empress’ Cup’?”

That one she knew! She’d played it once or twice herself when she was in Orlais. “I know of it, yes,” she said, making a note. “But do you think it… appropriate?”

“Is this a party or a Chantry prayer session?”

“Ah, point taken.”

“So who all knows about this?”

“You are the first person I have approached,” Josephine replied, easily handling the change in subject. “Apart from Vivienne.”

“So that’s who I have to blame for all of this?” Varric motioned to the numerous members of the Inquisition currently scrubbing the Great Hall for all it was worth. Some of them looked quite frightened; they kept peering back over their shoulders as if something was breathing down their necks. Which, to be fair, Vivienne probably was.

You didn’t always see Madame de Fer – but she always saw you.

“She insisted upon cleaning the hall before decorating,” she admitted.

“Of course she did,” he said, snorting. “Can’t have a piece of silk touching a piece of dirt. The sky would fall apart.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, wait. That already happened.”

“She is very good at throwing celebrations,” Josephine said. She felt slightly defensive. Vivienne was a perfectly legitimate choice for her co-organizer. The Court Enchanter had exquisite taste and the best connections with which to secure the best accouterments for the evening. Josephine really didn’t understand the open animosity so many people had towards her. The mage had never been anything but polite to her.

“I'll give you that. But she's not the easiest person to work with, you have to admit.”

“She has high standards, Varric. That is all.”

Varric shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to help her decorate,” he said. “Who else knows?”

“Leliana knows.”

“Of course she does,” he snorted. “Leliana knows everything from where people meet for their illicit trysts to where the dogs prefer to shit.”

She ignored that. “And the Commander knows.”

“Curly knows?” Varric sounded surprised.

“The Commander is proving… reticent to aid us,” she admitted. “But he is in on the secret, and has promised not to breathe a word of it to the Inquisitor.”

That was an understatement. Cullen had all but refused to leave his office since the Inquisitor had left, early in the morning. Josephine had sent several messengers to him, asking for everything from the aid of his soldiers in moving the furniture of the Great Hall to his advice on what to get the Inquisitor for a gift. He was being stubborn and silent.

“Is he getting her a present?” the dwarf asked, suddenly very intent.

Josephine blinked. That was not the question she had been expecting. “I… don’t know,” she said. “I had thought that all of us would get her something. It is customary, no?”

Varric jumped down from his chair, placing his manuscripts back in a leather envelope. “Sorry, Ruffles, but I just thought of something I have to do,” he said. He leaned forward. “Trust me. It’s for the Inquisitor.”

“Of course,” she said politely, hiding her annoyance with ease. It was alright; there were others she had to speak with as well. And he’d given her some ideas to work with.

“If you need me I’ll be with Sparkler.”

“Sparkler…?”

It was not use. Varric had already run off; for someone with very short legs, he was very fast. She sighed.

Who in Thedas was Sparkler?

* * * * *

“You wicked, wicked dwarf!”

“Like it?” Varric whispered.

The Tevinter mage chuckled. “Like it?” he repeated. “Varric, my dear, I love it! What a wonderful idea!”

“I have those from time to time.”

“Now, how are we going to get the two of them together? And alone? He certainly won’t work up the courage to draw her away on his own.”

“You leave that to me,” Varric said. “I’ve got an idea on that front. You just have to convince him that she feels the same way so he actually does the confessing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Should be easy, right? You two are thick as thieves.”

“What can I say?” Dorian preened. “The Inquisitor has excellent taste.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sparkler. Can you manage it?”

“Can I manage this.” The mage sounded _offended_.

“… can you?”

“Of course!” Now he was downright indignant. “Give me a few days’ worth of dramatic conversations over chess, and he’ll believe anything I tell him.”

“I didn’t know you were so close,” Varric remarked.

“Oh, I’m always close to pretty men. Present company excluded.”

“Ouch! It bites.”

“Yes, because we all know your self-confidence was dependent on my opinion of you,” Dorian said. Varric could feel the eye roll even if he couldn’t see it. “You don’t even swing my way.”

Varric was silent, more preoccupied with how to open the broom closet he’d shoved them in without making too much noise than answering Dorian's question.

“Wait… you don’t, do you?”

The dwarf snorted. “You wish, Sparkler.”

 

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is, as always, most appreciated :)
> 
> Also, just a note - this is set in a really ambiguous time period. The Herald is now the Inquisitor, and the Inquisition is at Skyhold, but none of the game's major secrets have been revealed. I figured it was just easier that way. So if you see references that aren't entirely correct - like Blackwall as an actual Grey Warden - it's because no one's learned the truth yet.


	3. Chess Games and Chasind Sack Mead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian begins to work on getting Cullen to confess while Josephine attempts to procure one of the most important components - alcohol - for the party.

Day 2

“This time, I think I have you, Commander.”

Cullen surveyed the board, looking over Dorian’s chess pieces. The mage had certainly set himself up well; there were a few good moves he could employ to beat Cullen handily. However, he’d also underestimated Cullen’s ability to see those moves before they happened. Thus, they weren’t really a possibility.

He shifted a knight, and Dorian’s face dropped. Cullen couldn’t help but smirk.

Dorian sighed and made a different move, starting a new strategy. “You know, you’re not half as clever as you think you are,” he muttered.

“That stills makes me cleverer than you, apparently,” Cullen retorted.

Theirs was an easy – if slightly scathing – friendship. To be truthful, Cullen had not looked to find a friend in the foreign mage. Dorian was… frivolous, charming, and entirely self-absorbed. He was vain and wealthy and ignorant to a lot of the problems other members of the Inquisition had faced in life. But he was also brave, loyal, and willing to change hundreds of years of tradition to make Tevinter a better place to live. That somewhat made up for his arrogance.

He was also quite close with Evelyn. Cullen put up with him for her sake.

“Hmm,” Dorian said noncommittally. “That remains to be seen.”

They exchanged a few more moves in silence. Cullen’s entire concentration was on the board. He’d only lost to Dorian a handful of times – and the mage took his relatively few wins very seriously. He couldn’t start losing everyday, or he’d never hear the end of it.

He almost had it. His queen was in just the right spot, and all Dorian had to do was move that piece there, or there, and the game was his.

“I hear there’s a bunch of party business going around.”

Cullen looked up. Dorian’s eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Party business?” he repeated, returning his eyes to the chessboard. Had the mage cheated while he wasn’t looking?

“For our dear Inquisitor,” Dorian clarified. He fixed Cullen with a hazel eye. “You have heard of this, correct?”

“I’ve… heard rumblings.”

“Rumblings?” Dorian snickered. “From what I hear, Josephine is practically breaking down your door trying to get you involved.”

“I want no part in this,” Cullen said firmly, watching as Dorian moved a pawn. Really? That was the move he’d made?

“And why not? It’s all in good fun.”

“The Inquisitor made it very clear that she didn’t want any sort of celebration,” he replied. “You should have heard her when Josephine said she wanted to throw a ball.”

Dorian chuckled. “Now that is something I would like to have observed,” he admitted. “Our little Inquisitor, yelling at the ambassador? She can get right heated in certain situations.” He chuckled again. “You know what that means, don’t you, Commander?”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, making a move of his own. “I can’t say I do,” he said.

Dorian leaned forward over the chessboard, smirking. “It means she’s a right little minx in bed.”

Cullen flushed involuntarily, which only made Dorian laugh. “That’s entirely inappropriate!” he snapped. But… he couldn’t help but agree with the mage. He’d surmised the same thing himself, though he’d instantly chastised himself for it. He shouldn’t be picturing the Inquisitor as anything less than… well, the Inquisitor. She was not his to have such thoughts about.

Of course, that didn’t stop the thoughts from coming. Or him from coming, thinking of her.

Damn! This was supposed to be about chess!

Dorian moved another piece, clearing his throat. Cullen looked over at him. The mage was smiling triumphantly, his eyes motioning down to the chessboard. Cullen looked down quickly, certain that he’d not make a mistake – but yes. There it was. Dorian had him pinned.

He sat back in his chair in defeat, refusing to meet the mage’s eyes.

“No one likes a sore loser, you know.”

“No one likes a sore winner, either,” Cullen retorted.

“Say, I didn’t… distract you, did I?” He hated Dorian’s falsely apologetic voice. It was so… saccharine. “That wasn’t my intent at all, Commander!”

“Then what was your intent?” he demanded.

“To ruffle your feathers,” Dorian said easily, reaching across the table to do just that to Cullen’s cloak. The mage chuckled when Cullen jerked away from him. “Which I’ve succeeded in doing, apparently.”

“You shouldn’t speak of the Inquisitor that way,” Cullen asserted.

“Have you heard the way she speaks about _me_?” Dorian asked flatly. “I believe her favorite nickname for me is ‘that cheeky blighter’. Trust me, I am not spared from her cruel wit.”

“She is your Inquisitor.”

“That she is,” Dorian agreed. “She’s your Inquisitor as well.” He smiled wickedly. “But that doesn’t stop you from… thinking about her in certain ways, now does it, Commander?”

Cullen groaned inwardly, once again regretting that the mage knew of his secretly harbored feelings for Evelyn. He’d let it slip one night, while they were drinking; it had been a long day, and he’d had to watch her simper and flirt with nobles for hours to forge an alliance. It had… not been comfortable.

“Tell me, have you ever considered telling her how you feel about her?”

“Of course not,” Cullen said immediately. “The last thing she needs is the added responsibility of a relationship with an ex-Templar going through lyrium withdrawal.” He snorted at the thought.

“Maybe she wants that responsibility,” Dorian said quietly. “You know, relationships go both ways. She takes on the responsibility of another, and they take on the responsibility of her. She has a lot of responsibility to share. Perhaps it would help her.”

“Perhaps it would,” Cullen agreed, giving the mage that point. “But that doesn’t mean she wants it from _me_.”

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror?” Dorian asked. “I’d hit that.”

“I know – your repeated offers still stand, I presume? You haven’t changed your mind and given up on harassing me?”

“With your ass? They’ll always stand.”

Cullen sighed. “Of course they will.”

* * * * *

“The Boss’ drink preference?” Iron Bull thought it over for a moment. He’d seen the Inquisitor drink everything from wine to beer to hard liquor to fruit coolers. It really depended on whom she was drinking with. She was versatile; it was one of the traits that made her a successful leader. She didn’t insist on having things any one particular way all of the time.

“Yes,” Josephine said politely. She was eyeing him warily, as if she were afraid he was going to suddenly lurch across the table and grab her.

He chuckled. Southerners.

“She drinks whatever her drinking buddy is having.”

“She never selects anything for herself?”

“No,” Bull replied. “She doesn’t.”

“That is… not entirely helpful,” Josephine said, sighing.

“Sorry, Ambassador,” Bull said, a grin tugging on his lips. “But it’s true. Boss likes everything – beer, wine, grain alcohol. She’s not picky.”

“I suppose that means I have to buy some of everything.”

“Nah,” Bull shook his head. “You really don’t.”

“You have a suggestion, then?” Josephine raised an eyebrow at him, hand poised over her writing board.

“This is a party for the Inquisitor’s naming day, but you aren’t throwing it just for her,” Bull said. It was obvious; Evelyn didn’t want a party just to celebrate her. That wasn’t who she was. So Josephine was throwing a party in her name while providing a necessary respite for their soldiers. It was a good idea. He wholeheartedly approved. “So don’t buy drinks just for her.”

He sat back on his bench in the tavern. “Get drinks for your soldiers,” he suggested. “Make them happy, and she’ll be happy.”

“Ale, then,” Josephine said, making a note.

“Beer,” Bull agreed. “It’s cheap, but it gets the job done.” He smirked. “Like the whores in Seheron.”

Josephine suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Ah, if you say so,” she said lightly. “I will order the requisite amount of barrels. Would you and the Chargers be willing to help move them for me?”

“Sure,” Bull said easily. Why not? His muscles could use the extra lifting.

“Thank you,” she said, standing to leave. Before she made for the tavern door, however, she pulled out a stack of envelopes and handed them to him. Bull studied the topmost one. Krem’s full name was spelled out in delicate, gold calligraphy. The Ambassador’s hand? Unlikely. She needed to write fast to keep up with everything.

No. This reeked of Vivienne. Literally, he thought as he brought one to his nose. She’d spritzed them with perfume.

“Here are your invitations to the party,” Josephine clarified. “There is to be a smaller celebration in the Great Hall for those members of the Inquisition the Inquisitor knows best. She is quite fond of you and the Chargers.”

“As we are of her,” Bull said, smiling. “She’s good.”

“That she is.”

* * * * *

Josephine gasped when her back hit the wall, strong arms pinning her into place. Blackwall’s beard was tickling her face, and he smelled of horse from being in the stables all day, but neither of those mattered right now. She was entirely focused on his mouth, kissing her rough and deep.

She returned the kiss willingly, melting into his arms. He was so… solid. Blackwall wasn’t the tallest or the strongest man around. He was stocky, and sturdy rather than muscular. But he was solid. He wasn’t going anywhere. And she quite liked that.

She moaned when he suddenly deepened the kiss, drawing her closer to him with a fist in her hair. She felt several of her hair pins fall to the floor, but made no move to grab them. Who cared about pins when you had a ruggedly handsome man’s tongue down your throat?

A sharp whinny from the stables below made her break away.

Blackwall looked at her in surprise, and made to kiss her again, but she smiled and swatted him away.

“Back to business, then?” he asked, the lilt in his voice resigned but happy.

“Unfortunately,” Josephine replied, grabbing her writing board.

“Pity that.” He sat down on a hay bale, looking at the pins he’d scattered on the floor. He scooped them up with a gloved hand, looking at them as if they were delicate flowers instead of the small pieces of metal they were.

Josephine patted her hair absently. She wasn’t sure how much of a mess they’d made in their brief… session. It was probably looking like a rat’s nest. She wished, not for the first time, that Blackwall had a mirror in his quarters upstairs. But of course he didn’t. He wasn’t the type of person who cared much for his appearance. He gave her a puzzling look every time she insisted that he get one.

“As you have no doubt heard, we are throwing the Inquisitor a party for her naming day,” she started, sitting down across from him.

“Varric mentioned it,” Blackwall replied. He looked up from the pins, giving her his full intention. “It’s a good thing you’re doing. This will help morale greatly.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Soldiers need distractions from what they face in the field,” he commented. “War is ugly – a great, ugly mess. Skyhold is a welcome relief from that. But it’s also a fortress. It’s hard to forget what you saw in the field when you live in a fortress. This party is a step in the right direction to helping them see this place as home.”

“Then you will help me in setting this up for the Inquisitor?”

“Of course, my Lady,” he said, sounding slightly offended that she’d even thought she had to ask. “What do you need me to do?”

“I have most of the planning under control,” she began, leaning forward a bit in excitement. “Varric is in charge of entertainment for the evening, and Dorian and the Iron Bull are in charge of the drinks.”

“That could be dangerous,” Blackwall said, grinning a bit.

“Varric suggested you could get Grey Whiskey?”

His grin fell a bit. “I would if I could, my Lady,” he said quietly. “But they store the stuff at Weisshaupt, and I don’t think they go around just handing it out.”

“I see,” Josephine said, making a mark on her list. Well, she should have expected as much. It wasn’t surprising to hear. “Then we will just have to –”

“But I could get you some Chasind Sack Mead.”

She looked up, surprised. He could? Chasind Sack Mead wasn’t easy to come by. The Chasind people to the south of Ferelden were the only ones who made it, and they weren’t well renowned for sharing with their more civilized neighbors.

“How?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I know a guy.”

“… and he will sell to us?”

“He’ll sell it to _me_ ,” Blackwall clarified.

“Ah. So we would have to find him first.” That could be tricky; there were only eight days left before the Inquisitor arrived.

“I can find him,” he said confidently. “Doesn’t live far from here, actually. Give me a team of good men, and I can get you the mead.”

“We have a limited amount of time,” she warned him.

“I can do it.” He sounded confident enough.

“Alright,” she allowed. “Pick your men, and come and see me when you are ready. I will give you the coin you think you need.” She stood to leave; he immediately stood up as well, his manners preventing him from sitting when a lady stood. She couldn’t help but smile.

Blackwall was a little rough around the edges, but he truly had a heart of gold.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate this.”

He leaned forward, and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I appreciate _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is most appreciated :)


	4. Roses or Lilacs?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine is determined to pull Cullen into helping with the party. She just knows she can get him to work with her. Sera, on the other hand, she's not so sure of.

Day 3

“How’s it coming?”

“Splendidly. I beat him again today! He’s very distractible.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Oh?”

“No! How’s the matchmaking going?”

“Oh. That. Patience, Varric. These things take time.”

“Sparkler, we have seven days to overcome Curly’s refusal to admit he has feelings for her. Seven days. Shit, that sounds even worse when I say it out loud.”

“It’s a delicate subject,” Dorian said. “I’m approaching it in the best way possible. Trust me, by the time you get the two of them together, he’ll have no choice but to tell her!”

“And you said you’ve done this before?”

“How do you think I got rid of all my suitors?” the mage asked flatly. “I set them up with people they liked. It’s an art form, my dear dwarf. You cannot rush art.”

“Sure you can,” Varric replied. “It just looks like shit.”

“It’s not art if it looks like shit.”

“Actually, I’ve seen a few paintings that depicted shit. Literal shit, you know. They were quite well done too-”

“You’re lying.”

Varric snorted. “Wish I was, Sparkler.”

Dorian made a noise of disapproval. “Hmm.”

“You keep working on Curly. I gotta get a few more things set up for the big reveal.”

“Did your contacts come through in time?”

“My contacts _always_ come through in time. The goods will be here tomorrow.”

“Splendid! Did you get my message on the flower selection? I really think we should go with lilacs. They are so beautiful in the springtime.”

“I still say we go roses. Roses are classic. You can’t beat classic.”

“Oh, Varric, you romantic, you!”

“… you say that like you’re surprised.”

“Well, you don’t exactly look the epitome of romance.”

“I have a romance serial!”

“Yes, and I’ll forgive you for that later. If you get the lilacs.”

Varric paused, and then scowled up at the mage.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘you’ll forgive me for that later’?”

* * * * *

Cullen couldn’t help but admire it.

He didn’t think Josephine would have had the courage, or the ingenuity. But he shouldn’t have doubted her. This was a woman who’d managed to knit together alliances for the Inquisition when it had been merely a conglomeration of misfits in Haven. She was capable of anything.

Still.

Had she really found it necessary to remove the doors from his office?

He snorted, moving to stand behind his desk. He was reluctant to help, yes, but he wasn’t completely opposed to the idea. He may have barricaded his doors against her after she'd taken to sending him missives at all hours of the day. But she could have come and asked him herself, instead of sending messengers. Or tearing down his doors. She knew he lived here as well as worked here, right?

What did she even want him to do?

He was a bit perplexed, to say the least. He was the Inquisition’s Commander. He trained their soldiers, developed battle strategies, and oversaw fortifications… none of which were qualifications for throwing a party. A party the Inquisitor didn’t even want, as he’d consistently reminded his fellow advisors.

He’d gotten the invitation from Vivienne yesterday. A messenger had brought it, holding it as far away from his body as possible. Cullen had frowned at that, until he’d accepted the wretched envelope. It had reeked of Orlesian perfume; it smelled of sugar and sex.

Should he go then? Dorian was certainly trying to convince him. The mage had muttered something about how he needed to “let loose more” and “put down the façade of the command”. But it wasn’t really a façade. This was who he was. He was a soldier; he’d been one almost his entire life.

Besides. Dorian’s idea of letting loose was drinking two or three bottles of wine and then running around with his pants around his ankles.

Cullen’s idea of letting loose was a little different, to say the least.

It was interesting that their conversations over chess always seemed to bring up Evelyn. It wasn’t entirely the mage’s fault; Cullen mentioned her at times as well. He was afraid that his feelings were all too clear to the mage; at times it was just easier not to hide them.

Dorian consistently encouraged him to act upon them. He believed that Evelyn wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. Perhaps she’d even reciprocate them, he’d mentioned today. That offhand comment had lost him today’s game.

But why would she choose him? He wasn’t the most handsome man here. Or the brightest, or the most romantic, or the tallest, or… well, no matter the trait, he probably wasn’t at the top of the list. Evelyn could have any man in Thedas. By the Maker, she was the Inquisitor! People like her merely had to _beckon_ , and men and women were falling at her feet.

He sighed. Now wasn’t the time to think about this. He had better things to attend to. A brawl had broken out between two soldiers earlier today; the Orlesian had called the Ferelden a “nasty peasant” and the Ferelden had responded by biting the man’s ear off. Honestly. It was like rearing children.

He stood from his desk and made to leave, heading for the training grounds. He paused to admire Josephine’s handiwork, once again amused by the missing doors. He shook his head.

That too, needed fixing.

* * * * *

“Wait, what?”

Josephine took a moment, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Sera was staring at her as if she’d just announced something preposterous. The Antivan wasn’t sure that the elf wasn’t drunk – she had an open bottle in one hand, and a half-sloshed look to her eyes. But it was only three in the afternoon. Surely even Sera wouldn’t be so drunk in the early afternoon?

The elf stumbled as she sat down on one of the benches, knocking over the glass of wine she’d offered Josephine. “Didja see that?” she asked, giggling. “Stupid glass got in th’ way!”

No. Sera was definitely drunk.

“We are planning a surprise naming day party for the Inquisitor,” Josephine repeated. “For when she gets back from the Emerald Graves, in seven more days’ time. It is a secret. She must not know anything.”

“Course not!” Sera agreed. She pantomimed locking her lips. “Ya won’t hear it from me, Prissy Pants!”

Prissy Pants? Was that what Sera called her? She opened her mouth to ask, but Sera cut her off.

“Mum’s the word!”

“Yes, well, thank you for your commitment to secrecy,” Josephine said. Sera giggled even harder at that. “But I need your help with a few things.”

“No, no, no good at tha’ stuff,” Sera said, shaking her head. “I mean, if you wanna get tossed or find a place to get your pop corked, then yeah! Got it! But ‘m no good at plannin’ stuff, no, no good at all.”

“I do not really need help with the planning,” Josephine quickly. Maker forbid it. Sera planning a party? She could only imagine what kind of party Sera would throw. “I would just like some advice. On the food.”

“Food, yeah?”

“Yes,” Josephine said. “Do you know what the Inquisitor likes?”

“She likes the Commander,” Sera said, leaning forward. There was a mischievous quality to her lilting voice. “Wants to eat ‘im up, she does!” She cackled at her joke. “No, no, I’m just flippin’ your nose! Hmm, right, food then…” She trailed off, thinking hard.

So the Inquisitor did favor Cullen then? Josephine had suspected as much. Evelyn was always shooting him glances across the war table when she thought no one was looking. It was quite obvious, really. Leliana had noticed it months ago. In fact… the only one who hadn’t seemed to notice was the Commander himself. But, she supposed, it was rather difficult to notice someone's glances toward you when refused to look at them yourself. He was rather obvious with his affections as well.

Unless he was just being purposefully obtuse? Now, there was a thought. She would consult with Leliana later.

“Meat,” Sera said finally, giggling to herself. “Lots o’ meat! That’s all she talks about lately. Meat, meat, meat!”

“I beg your pardon?” Josephine asked, confused.

“ _Meat_ ,” the elf replied, drawing the word out slowly, as if saying it slower would make Josephine understand her any better. It didn’t. “Y’know… meat.”

It hit Josephine like a ton of bricks. “Is that a euphemism?” she aske darkly, rolling her eyes.

“Euphenism?” Sera repeated, frowning. She giggled. “Dunno! What’s a yoofimism?”

“A double entendre?”

“Double _what_ now?”

“A word that stands for something else,” Josephine snapped. “Something… dirty.”

“Oh, got it!” Sera broke down into another fit of giggles. Really, how much wine had she had? Josephine looked around her room, a feeling of distaste rising as she surveyed the empty plates and bottles. There was no telling how much the elf had had today and how much was leftover.

“Right, she wants the Commander’s tallywag!”

“I don’t think we can manage that at a public event.”

“Right, right, Miss Prissy Pants, bet _you_ can’t,” Sera said, sighing dramatically and flopping back onto the couch. “But really, how great would that be, yeah? Her and Cully Wully, all snoggin’ in their knickers?”

It would certainly ease the sexual tension that was rolling off of their Commander in waves, but again, Josephine doubted the wisdom in that happening publically. She stood then, determining that she wasn’t going to get anything useful out of the elf. “Thank you for your help,” she said stiffly. It was more than Sera deserved, but manners were manners.

Sera looked up at her then, looking more sober than she had all afternoon. “Get ‘em together, Prissy,” she said quietly. “They’re in love. Everyone deserves that.” She paused for a moment. “And she really does like meat. And bread. Simple stuff. She does’t like none of that fancy stuff. Blech.” She stuck her tongue out for emphasis.

Josephine nodded, making a few notes. “I appreciate the help.”

“Right, you do!”

The Antivan left quickly, leaving Sera to her drunken shenanigans. She had the distinct feeling that she was being watched as she left. In particular, she had the keen sense that Sera was staring at her bottom. She shook her head.

Sera was one of a kind.

She made her way out of the tavern and into the courtyard. Things were coming along nicely. She’d managed to find several carpenters, and had set them to work making tables and trestles to hold the food and barrels of ale. Most of them were complete, pushed to one of the castle walls in order to make room for the merchants’ carts as they brought in foodstuffs, barrels of drink, and other goods.

She saw Vivienne standing by one of them, surveying fabric swatches with a woman who appeared to be her seamstress. The Court Enchanter waved a hand, but made no motion for her to follow. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

The first shipments of ale were just arriving. Iron Bull and the Chargers were already there, forming a line as they handed the barrels off the carts and then rolled them to their designated area. It was quite an efficient system, though she was a bit worried with how Iron Bull was throwing the barrels around.

Yes, everything was coming along quite nicely.

She looked up then, getting the distinct impression that someone was watching her. There, looking down from the battlements was Cullen, his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking down with interest. He noticed her, and smirked before moving back to his office.

He knew of the doors then. She had no regrets. It had had to be done. He would get his doors back once his soldiers had done what she needed them to do. The Commander was proving obstinate, but she knew how to outsmart him. She needed his help in throwing the perfect party for the Inquisitor. He would help her accomplish her goals.

After all, an Antivan always got her way.


	5. Push Her off the Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine finally gets her way, Dorian continues to talk to Cullen, and Vivienne proves how delightfully evil she can be.

Day 4

Former Grand Enchanter Fiona enjoyed most of her time with the Inquisition. It was not ideal – not when her mages had been forcibly conscripted into a battle against an ancient darkspawn magister. But after constant warfare with the Templars, the Inquisition was almost a dream come true – beds, fresh food, an opportunity to bathe at regular intervals… these were things she had greatly missed.

However, there were some things in the Inquisition that she did not enjoy.

One of them was the woman standing before her.

Vivienne, known in Orlais as Madame de Fer, was an extremely talented mage. But that was about the only compliment Fiona was willing to give the other woman. She never stopped playing the Game; she used it as a mask, constantly manipulating people for her own personal gain. To her credit, she’d managed to score positions and favors far higher than anyone would have believed her capable of.

As a result, it made her insufferable.

“Fiona, darling, if you would be so kind, I could use your assistance,” Vivienne said. There was a smile on her face, but Fiona knew it for what it was – the smile of a snake before it bit you.

“Of course,” she replied stiffly. She had no say in the matter; as a conscript, she was obliged to aid the Inquisition in whatever way possible.

Vivienne walked out onto the balcony that rimmed the front of the Great Hall. The little area she had claimed as her own personal study was now bare. A newly finished wooden dais was there now, several carpenters sanding the edges one final time.

The Court Enchanter clapped her hands, and the men immediately stopped working. “That will be enough for now, gentlemen,” she said. Her tone of voice indicated that they were dismissed. They scuttled out of the way as quickly as possible – actually scuttled. Fiona almost felt bad for them.

“You needed my assistance, Lady Vivienne?” Fiona reminded the other mage. She didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

“This is where the musicians will be playing on the night of the party,” Vivienne said, completely ignoring Fiona’s question. “The acoustics of this particular location are perfect. I’m thinking of a string octet… perhaps with brass accompaniment? Or is that too bold?”

“Eight seems perfectly fine to me-”

“Yes, I suppose to _you_ it would be fine,” Vivienne interrupted her sharply. “You were a Grey Warden once – I don’t suppose you’ve had much experience with dignified music, living on the roads as you have.”

Fiona clamped her mouth shut, biting back her retort. Oh, how she would’ve loved to set the dread woman’s robes on fire! “Then why ask my opinion?” she asked instead, clasping her hands together so she wouldn’t be tempted.

Vivienne laughed. “Oh, Fiona, _my dear_ ,” she said, drawing out the normally friendly words as if to stress how much she really didn’t mean it. “What _ever_ gave you the impression that I was asking for your opinion?”

Fiona blinked uncertainly. “You asked-”

“A rhetorical question,” Vivienne concluded. “I would have thought that was overwhelmingly obvious.”

“If you can answer your own questions, I don’t see why you need me,” Fiona said.

“Come,” Vivienne said, motioning her forward. Fiona stepped towards her hesitantly. “The balcony doors will have to be shut for the party so that the breeze does not blow the musicians’ music away. As such, it’s bound to get quite warm up here. I was hoping some of your… people could provide their assistance.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “You want my mages to just… _stand_ here and cool the area?”

“What else are they good for?” Vivienne asked flatly.

Fiona clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “The Lady Ambassador informed us that all members of the Inquisition were welcome to enjoy the festivities,” she protested.

“Then have your people take shifts,” Vivienne said, turning her back and walking to the other side of the dais to inspect something. “That’s what the soldiers are doing. Are your rebel mages – who only joined the Inquisition because they were taken captive – better than the men and women who have been fighting for the Inquisition all along?”

“Of course not,” Fiona said. “What a ridiculous thing to say!”

“It’s settled then,” Vivienne said, turning back around with an errant piece of paper in her hands. She smiled when she saw the furious look on Fiona’s face. “My, my Fiona – be careful not to make that face too often, or it might get stuck that way. And you wouldn’t want that.”

“Are you finished harassing me?” Fiona demanded. She did have work to do!

“Not quite,” Vivienne said. She moved to a spot in the middle of the balcony, over a spot marked with an “X”. “Come here,” she beckoned.

Fiona begrudgingly walked over to the marker. Vivienne grabbed her by the arm – a little harder than necessary, might she add – and settled her directly over the top of the X. She couldn’t help but notice the balcony was right there… just a little push, and no more –

No. She was in enough trouble already. She couldn’t push the Court Enchanter of Orlais off a balcony.

However much she wanted to.

“What is this?” she asked instead, motioning to the X.

“We only have seven music stands for eight musicians,” Vivienne explained. She stepped up onto the dais and looked out. “Yes, it’s perfect!”

Fiona frowned. “What’s perfect?” she asked flatly.

“You, my dear!” Vivienne replied. “You’re the perfect height!”

She didn’t like where this was going.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Fiona, don’t be obtuse,” Vivienne said, sighing. “You’re going to hold the lead violinist’s sheet music up for him!”

… was it too late to push her off the balcony?

* * * * *

“I don’t understand what you want me to do!” Cullen snapped.

Josephine was frowning at him over her writing board. “I want you to _help_ ,” she said stubbornly.

“And I’ve already told you that I refuse to be part of something the Inquisitor herself doesn’t want!” he replied.

“Did you like the doors?” she asked innocently. “Because there’s more where that came from.”

Cullen sighed and sat down in his desk chair, hard. He brought a hand to his forehead, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He’d had a withdrawal induced headache all morning, and Josephine coming to berate him again wasn’t helping.

“What can I even do to help you?” he asked after a few tense moments of silence.

“Manpower,” she said immediately. “You command the single largest unit in the Inquisition. I have currently put the Iron Bull and his Chargers in control of moving goods, but they cannot move everything.”

He fixed her a curious gaze. “How much have you bought?” he asked.

“Enough.” Was Josephine blushing? He didn’t think he’d ever seen the Antivan blush. She cleared her throat. “Commander, I know you do not wish to upset the Inquisitor. And you… have your reasons.” Now it was his turn to blush. “But I only ask two things of you. The first is that you allow me to use some of your soldiers to move around goods. The second is that you write-up a guard rotation for the night of the party.”

“There’s already a guard rotation,” Cullen replied immediately. He had them drawn up two weeks in advance. Never let anyone say that he was unprepared.

“I wish to allow all the soldiers to partake in the festivities,” she explained. “That means having a changing guard rotation, so that all the soldiers, even the ones on active duty, get the opportunity to join in.”

“That won’t work.”

“Pardon me?”

Cullen sighed. “If we allow all the soldiers to partake, then all the soldiers are going to get drunk,” he replied. “That means drunken guards. I refuse to put the Inquisition in such a position. I can put the soldiers who aren't on guard duty on a rotation, but I cannot do the same for anyone on sentry duty.”

“Then-”

“I will offer extra payment for any guard who forgoes the party,” he said quickly. He hoped she couldn't tell that he was trying to get this over as quickly as possible. He really wasn't intending to be rude. But his headache was something awful. “We should have a few takers.”

“Alright.” She made a note on the sheet of paper in front of her. “And... in regards to my first request?”

Cullen breathed in once through his nose. He supposed he didn’t really have a choice. And to be honest, it wasn’t like she was asking a great deal. There were always off-duty soldiers at any given time. Offer them a few extra coppers, and many of them would be willing to move crates all day.

He hoped Evelyn wouldn’t be too upset with him.

“You have the soldiers. Inform me when you have need of them, and I will provide you with the requisite units.”

Josephine made a delighted noise. “Oh, thank you, Cullen!” she cried. “This is so helpful!”

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable at her joy. He never knew what to say in these situations, dammit! “Um, yes, of course,” he said quietly. “You’re welcome.”

“You will not regret this!” She stood then, making to leave. Was that it all took? She’d been hounding him for days now, trying to get him to relent. Perhaps he should have caved to the pressure earlier. She paused at the door, turning to look back at him. “Cullen?”

He looked up, his hand falling to his lap. “Yes?” he asked.

She gave him a warm smile. “I do not believe the Inquisitor will dislike this,” she said. “She does so much for us. She cannot protest if we do this small thing for her.”

He chuckled at that. “Have you met Evelyn?” he asked.

“She is stubborn,” Josephine agreed. She gave him a wicked grin. “A trait the two of you have in common.”

“What-”

But she was gone before he could finish the question. He shook his head, and moved a stack of reports towards him. He’d been procrastinating on these all morning, hoping that the headache would ease. As it wasn’t… he might as well get started. Perhaps when he was finished reading them, he could lie down for an hour. Sometimes that helped.

He hadn’t even gotten through the first page of the first report when another person burst through one of his doorways. He looked up, ready to accept whatever message had come through – but it wasn’t a messenger at all. Instead, Dorian was standing there, a grin on his face.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t play chess with you today,” Cullen said shortly. It was true; he was in no mood – or, to be frank, no state of mind – to play games.

Dorian raised his arms defensively. “Now, now, Commander,” he said lightly, moving into the room a little more. “Don’t be hasty. You don’t even know what I’m here for!”

“You mean it isn’t to hound me into another game?” Cullen asked, raising an eyebrow at the mage.

“As it so happens… no,” Dorian replied. “Though if I were, I would think twice about it now that I’ve seen you. There’s no glory in beating the incapacitated.”

“Is it that obvious?” Cullen asked quietly.

Dorian sat on the corner of his desk. “You’re completely transparent,” he said. “To the trained eye, of course.” He reached into a pocket, bringing out a small vial. He flipped it over and handed it to Cullen. “Here. A small restorative I created.”

“What is it?” Cullen asked, taking the vial cautiously. He wasn’t quite comfortable being healed with magic. Mages no longer reviled him as they once had, but he hadn’t gotten used to the idea that magic was a gift to be treasured instead of an explosive ready to go off at any moment. It made him more suspicious than was probably necessary.

“A _restorative_ ,” Dorian said flatly, “weren’t you listening? A potion, if you must call it that.”

“What does it do?”

Dorian sighed. “I take it whenever I’m too hungover to function properly,” he explained.

“It’s what you deserve for drinking so much,” Cullen admonished him, but there was no malice in his words.

“But there’s so much wine out there!” Dorian protested. “It’s just begging me to drink it, and it would be _rude_ to refuse!”

Cullen unplugged the stopper and drank the draught in one motion. It had a slightly bitter taste, but it was not altogether unpleasant. Almost immediately, he felt the pressure behind his forehead lift, and he sighed in relief.

“‘Thank you, Dorian! You are _such_ a wonderful friend, _whatever_ would I do without you!’”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, handing the empty vial back to the mage. Dorian pocketed it. “Was that why you came here?”

“No,” the mage replied, “though I am happy to help. I heard something interesting from our ambassador today, and I thought I might share it with you.”

“By all means,” Cullen said, leaning back in his chair. His reports would have to wait. Dorian was not a man to be dissuaded from a course of action once he’d decided to take it.

“She was talking to Sera,” Dorian continued, “about our dear Evelyn’s taste in food. Now, I’m not sure why Lady Montilyet went to _Sera_ for that information, instead of yours truly, but I’m willing to overlook that. Sera was apparently rip-roaringly drunk.”

Cullen snorted. “That really shouldn’t surprise you,” he said.

“It didn’t. What _did_ surprise me is what Sera said while she was drunk. She may have let slip a few chief morsels that our dear lady ambassador just couldn’t resist sharing.” There was a devious glint in the mage’s eyes now, and Cullen began to worry about where this was going.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Would you believe that Evelyn is lusting after one of our own?”

Cullen felt like someone had punched him hard in the gut. She… she did? It wasn’t exactly a surprise; Evelyn was the Inquisitor, but once she was stripped away of all titles and fancy names, she was just a human woman. It was perfectly natural for her to fall in love with someone. She deserved it. Maker, if anyone deserved happiness, it was Evelyn.

“Commander?”

“Mmm?” Cullen was drawn from his quickly glooming thoughts by the mage’s voice. Dorian had a peculiar expression on his face.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Of course,” Cullen said.

Dorian snorted. “So you heard me when I said that Sera mentioned Evelyn wanted to ‘eat him up’ as if he were a delightful sausage?”

Cullen flushed at the innuendo. Well, no, he’d not heard that.

“I didn’t think so,” Dorian said, smirking. He cleared his throat. “So. What do we do with this information?”

“Do?” Cullen repeated, surprised. “What exactly do you think we should be doing?”

“Well, it’s obvious who Sera was referring to,” the mage said. He fixed Cullen with a pointed stare.

Cullen blinked. “ _Me_?” he asked.

“My god, you really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

“No, no, no,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “You must be mistaken. Perhaps Josephine heard Sera wrong; that’s not uncommon. Evelyn doesn’t have such feelings for me.”

“And how do you know that?” The mage leaned forward a bit.

Cullen huffed. “Well, I would know!” he said, slightly offended.

“Cullen,” Dorian said gently.

“You think I can’t tell when someone is interested in me?” Cullen demanded. “I figured you out on the very first day!”

“I am overwhelmingly forward. A _druffalo_ would have picked up my hints,” Dorian corrected him. “Our Inquisitor is not so bold.”

“She would have said something,” Cullen said firmly.

“Would she?” Dorian challenged him. “Would Evelyn, who has taken on every responsibility demanded of her without complaint, allow herself this one selfish act? Would Evelyn, who tiptoes around complicated subjects like an exotic dancer from Rivain, be so blunt with you? Would you, a man who avoids eye contact with her like it burns him and goes out of his way to stay away from her because he’s shy, have given her any reason to speak up?”

… well, when he put it that way.

The mage stood then, walking towards one of the doors. “I can’t say how true this information is,” he said. “But Sera is undeniably close to the Inquisitor, for reasons I have not yet discovered.” He shook his head in distaste. “If she revealed something like that… it was for a reason. And it is probably true.” He turned, smiling as he gave Cullen a mock salute. “Food for thought, Commander.”

Cullen watched the man leave. Could it… could it be true? He had hoped beyond hope that it _could_ happen, but he’d not presumed to think for a second that it _would_ happen.

Dorian was right; despite his easy friendship with Evelyn, he did avoid eye contact with her, for fear his eyes would give him away. He avoided her at times for the same reason. He could tell that it greatly frustrated her, and he disliked himself for it. But he would not put her in a position that she didn’t want to be in for his sake.

But if she felt the same way…

Was she waiting for him to make the first move? Was she just as timid as he was? It was entirely possible. Evelyn hated confrontation. She’d dithered between the mages and the Templars for weeks until she’d finally chosen to go to Redcliffe and confront Alexius.

It was possible. He thought he could safely conclude that. But did that mean he should tell her how he felt? Should he risk their somewhat tenuous friendship on the chance that it could be something more? He wanted to. Maker, how he wanted to; he’d scarce wanted anything so badly in his entire life. He…

He loved her.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of his desk and made to climb the ladder to his personal quarters. It was no use. No reports would be finished today.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter :) haha
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and for your kind words and kudos! It means a lot to me :)


	6. I'll Take That Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krem thinks he's made a mistake, Leliana gives her stamp of approval, and Dorian makes plans to monopolize the garden.

Day 5

Krem looked at Stitches from across the table, studying the other man. The healer had a smug look on his face. “You don’t think I’ll take your bet,” he said, taking a drink of ale.

“’Course you won’t,” Stitches replied, scoffing. “He’s not gonna do nothing.”

“He will,” Krem said, adding a few more coppers to the pile between them.

“He ain’t got the balls for it,” Stitches insisted.

“Have you heard what Varric and that mage are doing?” Krem asked. “He’ll do it.”

Dalish sighed at the two of them from where she was sitting. “What a silly thing to bet over,” she said. “You should both be ashamed of yourselves!”

“Oy, you’re a mage, right, Dalish?” Stitches asked. “Look into the future and tell Krem here that it’s not going to happen!”

“I’m not a mage!” Dalish insisted. “And even if I was, I couldn’t see the future! It doesn’t work that way!”

“Idiots,” Skinner added, nodding.

“Krem’s the only idiot here,” Stitches said smugly.

“We’ll see about that,” Krem challenged, taking a big swig from his tankard.

“What are you doing now?”

Krem turned at the Chief’s question. The Iron Bull had sauntered over, pulling up a stool to sit on. He was eyeing the stack of coins in between them with amusement. “Oy, Chief, perhaps you can settle this,” he said.

“Krem thinks the dwarf and the ‘Vint are going to get the Commander to tell the Inquisitor how he feels about her,” Stitches explained. “I think it’s horseshit.”

“Have you heard their plans?” Krem demanded. “It’s going to work.”

“Dorian is going to great lengths for this,” the Iron Bull said thoughtfully.

“Dorian, is he now?” Krem asked suspiciously, giving the Chief a piercing stare. “When did that happen?”

The Chief completely ignored him, doing that Ben-Hassreth thing where a remark wasn’t even dignified with outward contemplation.

“You, trusting a ‘Vint?” Stitches asked the Qunari sharply. “No offense, Krem.”

“None taken,” Krem replied, eyes not leaving his boss.

But the Iron Bull wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of an answer. No, if there was something there, Krem would have to figure it out on his own. Damn. The Chief wasn’t an easy guy to maneuver around, literally or figuratively.

“I’m in,” Bull said suddenly, pulling out a bag of coins and putting in on the table.

Stitches’ eyes bulged at the sheer amount of coin in the bag. “That’s way too much!” he protested.

“Double or nothing,” the Chief growled. “You say the Commander does nothing, Krem says he tells her, and _I_ say he tells her and fucks her senseless. Winner takes all.”

Krem didn’t hesitate to double his stack of coins. The Commander seemed far too much of a gentleman to do such a thing. He figured his coin was relatively safe. But Stitches looked hesitant; was he perhaps regretting his decision?

But he finally shook his head and doubled his own stack. “Winner takes all,” he agreed.

“Oh, he will,” the Chief said, a predatory look in his eyes.

“Do you know something we don’t, Chief?” Krem asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not winning if you cheat.”

“Knowing more than your opponent is a part of life, Krem,” the Qunari replied. “That doesn’t make it cheating.”

“Then what would you call it? Sounds like cheating to me.” Stitches demanded. “And since when are we opponents? It’s just a bet!”

“It's playing with style,” the Chief replied, voice firm. “And if you bet against me, you _are_ my opponent.”

Krem shook his head and finished the rest of his tankard. Why did he have the sudden sensation that his money was doomed?

* * * * *

“Do you know what Varric and Dorian are up to?”

Josephine looked up from her desk. Leliana had walked into the room, but she hadn’t heard the other woman at all. Of course she hadn’t. Leliana had perfected the art of moving silently. The redhead walked further into the room, quietly flipping the lock of the door behind her.

Josephine sat back in her chair, laying her pen down. “I have an idea,” she admitted, smiling. “I suppose there is no need to ask how much you know.”

“No,” Leliana replied, smiling in return. She leaned atop the empty chair across from Josephine. “I know exactly what they are doing. Tell me, Josie, should we put a stop to it?”

Josephine was taken aback. “Put a stop to it?” she repeated. “Is that what you want to do?”

Leliana shook her head. “I was just curious of your thoughts on the matter.”

“I… well, they both deserve to be happy,” Josephine replied. She thought on it for a moment. Would the Inquisitor being involved with her Commander be problematic?

It could be scandalous, but she could also twist it into something beneficial. Were there not countless romantic stories of the queen falling in love with her general? It would also solve the problem of a potential arranged marriage; any marriage she could push the Inquisitor towards would no doubt offend countless other noble parties. By becoming involved with the Commander, a commoner… it did solve those problems.

“So they do,” Leliana agreed. “I found myself in a similar situation once.”

“You and the Hero of Ferelden?” Josephine guessed. The redhead nodded. “But you ended that years ago.”

“He was a Grey Warden,” the spymaster explained, sighing. “And I was not. It did not seem a possibility. It was heartbreaking at the time, but now…” She paused. “He is now dead, and I have saved myself pain by leaving when I did.”

“Do you regret it?”

“With all my heart,” Leliana replied. She smiled at Josephine then, a sad smile that didn’t quite touch her blue eyes. “Which is why I would have the Commander and the Inquisitor together. Perhaps they will not make the same mistake I did. Perhaps they will have more happiness than I have had in my romantic pursuits.”

A question popped into Josephine’s head as she recalled her conversation with Sera the day before. “Tell me, Leliana, do you truly believe the Commander does not know?”

Now Leliana gave her a real smile. “It is painfully obvious, no?” she asked. “But the Commander has never been an extroverted person. Evelyn takes his stiffness as tolerance, nothing more, when it is truly hesitance. He takes her advances as kindness, refusing to believe someone like her could love someone like him.”

“They make quite a pair, don’t they?” Josephine asked, shaking her head.

“It is good what Varric and Dorian are doing,” Leliana continued. “Too much longer and I think it would be too late for either of them to do anything.”

“We could not have that,” Josephine agreed.

“Let them play matchmaker. I will watch them carefully, and make certain… adjustments, if need be.”

Josephine picked her pen up again, smiling at her old friend. “Of course,” she said. “I have complete faith in you.”

Leliana turned to leave, ready to return to her tower and her ravens. She paused at the door, toying with the lock. “This will be good, Josie,” she said suddenly. Josephine looked up from the document she had already started to write. “The Inquisitor will appreciate this.” Her eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement. "Even if she will never admit it."

* * * * *

Evelyn sneezed several times in quick succession, annoyance washing over her features. She looked up at Solas, who was tending the fire with her while Cassandra and Cole were out hunting.

“Some cultures say that when you sneeze like that, it means that someone is talking about you,” Solas said quietly.

Evelyn scowled at him across the fire. “Just what I needed,” she muttered. “More people talking about me.”

“You are the Inquisitor,” he replied, chuckling. “I am sure a great many people are often talking about you.”

“They shouldn’t,” she snapped. She gave up on just sniffling and pulled out a handkerchief to stem the tide of snot she’d worked up. She blew her nose, disgusted at the wet noise. “I’m none of their business!”

That only drew a chuckle from the elf. “If you say so, Inquisitor.”

* * * * *

“No, no, it can’t be here,” Dorian said, sighing. “Anyone could walk in on them!”

Varric smirked. “There’s going to be free ale in the courtyard, and you’re worried about people coming to the garden?” he asked.

“There’s always one person who ruins the party spirit,” the mage replied. He shook his head, looking around. “No, we will have to make sure that no one comes near here that night, save our dear Inquisitor and the Commander.”

“Should be easy enough,” Varric replied. “Did I mention the _free ale_?”

“I’ll speak to Josephine,” Dorian said decidedly, turning to face the dwarf. “Surely she can write something up about the garden! We can say… we can say it’s closed for renovations!”

“You don’t really… renovate gardens,” Varric said flatly.

“Then we’ll claim they’re renovating the chapel, and that the building materials are located in the garden,” Dorian said, sighing. “It’s a perfectly logical excuse; your chapel here is disturbingly primitive.”

“Yeah, yeah, you go talk to Ruffles about that,” Varric said, waving a hand. He honestly wasn’t as concerned as Dorian was about the privacy of the gardens. The only people who really came to the gardens either tended the plants or needed a quiet place to think. Neither kind of people would be frequenting a garden during a party. The former would be at the event, and the latter would likely be holed up in their rooms.

It was almost a pity. He thought the, ah, decorations, they had brought to the garden had really enhanced the ambiance of the place.

Roses in varying shades of pink, red, and white, had been looped around the columns of the small gazebo where the chessboard normally sat. They were just now budding; in five more days’ time, they would be in full bloom. Wisps of gossamer fabric had been tied around the tops of the columns, and candles sat everywhere.

Those had been Dorian’s touch. He’d insisted that candles could make or break a romantic evening. Varric had pointed out that objects on fire could also damage plants and flammable fabric, but the mage had ignored him.

Still. It had a nice effect.

It was very romantic, if he did say so himself. He would have to find a way to work this into _Swords & Shields_. It was the kind of thing readers just ate up. Perhaps the Knight-Captain would find her way to an abandoned castle? Did roses grow wild? He’d have to do some preliminary research.

“Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” Varric turned to Dorian, who was looking at him with an annoyed expression on his face. “What?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Dorian sighed.

“Sorry,” Varric replied. “I… got caught in my thoughts. What did you say?”

“I plan on steering the Commander towards buying our lovely Inquisitor a gift,” the mage repeated. “It is customary, after all.”

“Of course,” the dwarf replied. “Can’t flout tradition.”

“I am thinking jewelry,” Dorian continued.

“Woah, there, Sparkler, they haven’t even kissed yet!”

“Not _that_ kind of jewelry!” Dorian huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course not! I was thinking…” He leaned down into Varric’s ear to whisper the rest of the sentence, in case of prying ears.

“She’ll love it,” Varric agreed.

“Of course she will,” Dorian said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

“But do you think Curly will go for that?” Varric asked. “And where are you going to get it? You can’t get those anywhere around here.”

Dorian waved a hand. “I’ll take him to Val Royeaux. I was planning on getting a new blade for my staff. I’ll ask him to accompany me.”

“Good luck getting him to agree to that,” Varric snorted.

Dorian puffed his chest out. “You wound me, Varric,” he said. “You doubt my powers of persuasion?”

“I would never,” the dwarf replied, chuckling. “But I do doubt Curly’s willingness to be a part of your schemes.”

“Don’t underestimate me, dwarf.”

“Don’t overstep it, Sparkler.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! As always, feedback is most appreciated :)


	7. Don't Get Eaten by the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne takes matters into her own hands, and the Iron Bull debates what to get the Inquisitor for her naming day.

Day 6

Josephine waited in the courtyard expectantly, her hands gripping her writing board perhaps a little harder than necessary. She couldn’t help it; Blackwall had been gone from Skyhold for four days now. She was both anxious to see him, and to see if he’d returned successful. It was foolish of her, she knew; as a member of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, Blackwall accompanied Evelyn on excursions all of the time. He was gone from Skyhold more often than not.

Still. That didn’t mean she ever really got used to it.

He should have arrived ten minutes ago. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t a big deal; carts were ungainly at the best of times, and when they were loaded with barrels of alcohol… There were a multitude of things that could be delaying them that weren’t threatening. Besides – ten minutes wasn’t even very late.

She fidgeted, making sure the ruffles of her silks were carefully arranged. She’d taken extra care with her appearance this morning. It may have had something to do with Blackwall’s return. Maybe. Of course, she was also meeting with several dignitaries from Redcliffe later to discuss reparations for the mages’ antics, and she had to maintain appearances.

But it was probably for Blackwall.

Her ears perked up when she heard the distinctive rumble of cart wheels on cobblestones. She stood a little straighter, waiting for the carts to come into view. Several minutes later, she spotted them. It was slow going. They were using normal Inquisition horses instead of larger draft animals. Had they not anticipated for the correct amount of alcohol?

And there he was. Her heart caught in her chest when she noticed he was still wearing his armor. There were several scratches on his cheek, and his hair was mussed. Had there been trouble?

She couldn’t stop herself from running up to the gate, though she stopped herself before she ran out onto the causeway. They were making painstakingly slow progress forward, the barrels only held to the cart with rope. Every time the cart hit a bump in the road, the driver flinched.

But they were lucky. There were no accidents as the cart crossed the threshold into Skyhold. Blackwall caught her eye and grinned at her. She blushed a bit, but stepped back to direct the cart into the courtyard. Cullen’s soldiers had already formed up to help remove the barrels.

It was quick work; she was surprised at how much mead Blackwall had managed to secure for the amount of coin she’d given him. She mentioned as much to him when he walked over to her.

“Gave me a deal, he did,” Blackwall replied. “I bought almost his entire stock, and gave him enough coin to survive the winter. I made him a happy man, so he returned the favor.”

“And it is true Chasind Sack Mead?” Josephine asked, watching as the soldiers moved the barrels to the designated area she’d marked off earlier.

He pulled out a flask, handing it to her. She hesitated at first. But proper hostesses had to ensure that what they were serving was up to their standards, yes? She brought the flask to her lips and took a small sip.

It was like fire and honey, and it burned all the way down her throat. She coughed as delicately as was possible, handing the flask back to Blackwall, who chuckled. “Real enough?” he asked.

“Very real,” she said, swallowing. She would have to find something more palatable to, well, cleanse her palate with. As soon as possible. “Thank you, Blackwall.”

“Of course, my Lady,” he replied.

She paused, looking over his armor once again. Up close, she could see the various dings and dents he’d acquired over the years. It was a sign of his status as a warrior, and as a Warden. The scratches on his face weren’t severe, but it lent him a rugged quality that was not entirely unappealing.

“Was it rough going?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “We ran into some bandits on the way back,” he admitted. “Nothing serious,” he added when he saw her expression grow concerned, “mostly a nuisance. One of them threw a fistful of rocks at my face to try and distract me.”

“Were you not wearing a helmet?”

“Oh, I was,” Blackwall replied, snorting. “Idiot was half-tossed when he attacked us. Didn’t even realize we were soldiers in full armor until it was too late. Pity that. Waste of life.”

“Ah, I see.” The conversation lapsed momentarily, and she hastened to fill it again with the sound of his voice. “Well it is good that you are alright.”

“One less group of bandits to worry about,” he replied.

“Indeed.”

She expected him to further their conversation, but he was being stubbornly quiet. Josephine let a small sigh pass from her lips; this was really her only chance to see Blackwall today. And he wasn’t making good use of it. But it was no matter – she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, and perhaps he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Public displays of affection were for schoolboys and –

She gasped as he leaned down and swiftly kissed her on the mouth. Her apprehension melted as she leaned into him, her foot lifting ever so slightly off the ground. His hand was strong on her hip; she could feel the heat of his skin even through his leather gloves and her silken ruffles.

Blackwall broke away, startled, when he heard several of the guards whistling at the two of them. Josephine flushed, a hand going to her cheeks to hide her embarrassment. “Oh, Maker,” she breathed. If anyone had had doubts about their relationship before… well, there were certainly no doubts now.

“Sorry about that,” Blackwall said quickly. “I just. Well, I didn’t. Hmm.” He broke off, unable to come up with an excuse.

She couldn’t help but smile up at him. “It’s alright,” she said.

“No,” he protested. “It was improper of me, and I apologize!”

“It’s alright,” she repeated, putting a hand on his chest to reassure him. “Really.” She flashed him a winning smile as she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “No one can resist an Antivan.”

* * * * *

“Tell me, my dear, what are you getting the Inquisitor for her naming day?”

Josephine looked over at Vivienne, who was surveying several different choice fabrics. The mage had invited her to the room she'd commandeered while hers was serving as a practice space for the hired musicians. Different bolts of fabric were currently spread over every free surface. Vivienne's seamstress sat in a corner, already working with a brilliant silver satin. Was that to be Vivienne's dress?

There was a lush, dark red velvet thrown against a shimmering periwinkle satin, as if the two were competing for a prize. A navy and gold brocade was paired with a hunter green gossamer number. There was also a lavender silk confection, and, as if by accident, a delicate pale yellow cream overlaid with lace was cast over an armchair. All of them were beautiful, of course. Whatever else could be said about Vivienne, she had excellent taste in clothing.

“I must admit, I have given the matter a shamefully small amount of thought,” Josephine replied. “Things have been… very busy for the past several days.”

“I thought as much.” Vivienne turned to give the ambassador her full attention. “But not to worry, my dear! _I_ have given the matter a great deal of thought.” She motioned to the fabrics before her. “My seamstress stands at the ready. She is already fashioning me a gown for the occasion, and I was hoping to make the Inquisitor something as well. As a gift to her, of course.”

“What a splendid idea!” Josephine said enthusiastically. “There will be many balls in her future, though I dread her reaction when she makes that discovery.”

Vivienne laughed; it was a tinkling sound, like small bells or water trickling over rocks. Josephine couldn’t tell if it was real or affected. Probably the latter. She wasn’t _that_ humorous, and Vivienne wasn’t _that_ easily entertained.

“She will learn to like them,” the Court Enchanter insisted. “Or she will find a coping mechanism. Either way, she will need the proper attire.” She returned her attention to the fabric swatches. “Now, the Inquisitor is much bustier than I am, and her hips are wider too. I fear we will have to take that into consideration when selecting an appropriate style.”

“Of course,” Josephine agreed.

“But she has beautiful collarbones,” Vivienne remarked. “We would do well to show those off.”

“The Commander won’t be able to resist,” she said teasingly.

“From what I hear, his resistance is already hanging by a thread,” Vivienne remarked. “The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces sleeping with the Inquisitor? How _scandalous_.” The corners of her mouth turned up as she said that, but Josephine did not think it was disapproval.

"Say, Madame Vivienne… will this gown be ready for the party?”

“It would be a rush order,” the woman replied slowly. Her eyes lit up as she realized what Josephine was intimating towards. “But I do think we could have it arranged, yes. You can procure suitable accessories for her, yes? Jewels, stockings, hair ornaments?”

“Certainly,” Josephine replied, a giddy sensation filling her. “I have called in traders from all over Thedas to make sure that everything is perfect. Surely I can find a merchant who fits our requirements.”

“Excellent,” Vivienne said excitedly. She surveyed the fabrics once more. “This one.” She pointed to a swatch of fabric. “It’s calling to me.”

“It will bring out the color of her eyes.” Both women looked up as Leliana sauntered into the room, a handful of papers in her hand. Even the stoic spymaster had a glint of excitement in her blue eyes. She nodded at the mage’s fabric selection. “And she likes that color.”

“Silver jewelry then, my dear,” Vivienne said to Josephine. “Gold would be too gaudy for this particular shade.”

“And the shoes – have you considered the shoes?” Leliana asked, her voice low and quick.

“I doubt she has anything appropriate,” Vivienne said. She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort – but of course, Vivienne would _never_ snort, so Josephine really had no idea what to call it.

“Leave the shoes to me,” Leliana said. She smiled. “I know just the pair.”

* * * * *

“A full set of my collected works,” Varric announced, crossing his arms over chest. “Autographed, of course. I wouldn’t give Snippy anything less than my best.”

“…that’s it?” the Iron Bull repeated. “You’re giving the Boss your _books_ for her name day?”

Varric shot the Qunari an affronted look. “Something about the way you made that sound makes me think you dislike the idea,” he said.

Iron Bull snorted. “It’s just not what I would have picked,” he offered.

“And what are you giving her?” Varric prodded.

The Qunari shrugged. “Don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully. “Gifts aren’t really done under the Qun. At least, not for something as mundane as turning a year older.”

“I heard you don’t live under the Qun anymore, Tiny,” Varric pointed out. He raised his tankard of ale, and took a big drink. “That means you might have to pay more attention to our customs.”

“Dwarf customs are the same as human customs?” Iron Bull asked.

“Shit on dwarven customs,” Varric replied.

That made the other laugh before he took a swig from his own ale. “I will get her something,” he said after a moment’s pause. “This custom, I think I can accept. Seems a bit natural to give someone you like a gift. It's better than some other customs you have. Like keeping your mages unleashed.”

“Hey, not my battle to fight,” Varric said, raising his hands up to forestall a dramatic turn in their conversation. This was supposed to be a relaxing night of drinking, after all. Dealing with all of his contacts to get the requisite supplies in before the Inquisitor returned was taxing. And that was putting it extremely kindly. If he had to hear one more report about the Merchant’s Guild, or a complaint about the affairs in Kirkwall…

“A dragon’s head.”

Varric turned to look at the Qunari, who was deep in thought. “Come again?” he asked.

“I’ll get her a dragon’s head!” the Iron Bull said, more firmly this time. “We can get it cleaned and mounted! She can hang it above her bed, a proud trophy for her accomplishments!”

“Not sure that’s what she wants hanging above her as she sleeps,” Varric commented lightly.

“She can put it on a different wall if she wants, Varric,” Bull said, rolling his one eye.

“Okay, fine, she can put it on a different wall,” Varric said. He raised an eyebrow at his drinking partner. “But where are you gonna find a dragon?”

Bull’s face fell a bit as he considered Varric’s question.

“I mean, you killed that one in the Hinterlands,” the dwarf continued. “And they’re still repairing Judicael’s Crossing in the Emprise, so you can’t even _get_ to where those dragons are. I’m not sure why you want to in the first place, but hey. Whatever makes you happy, right?”

“You’re crushing my idea, Varric,” Iron Bull growled, slamming his drink on the table after a long swig.

“Sorry, sorry,” Varric replied. “Force of habit.”

“I will find a dragon.”

“Sure you will, Tiny. Just don’t go after it alone, promise? The Inquisitor will never forgive me if I let you get eaten by a dragon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I'm almost done with this now - shouldn't be too much longer :)


	8. The Color of Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian go to Val Royeaux, and Josephine nearly has a heart attack when someone unexpected returns to Skyhold.

Day 7

Cassandra did not think she had ever seen Josephine look so flustered. Haven’s burning and subsequent burial in the avalanche had ruffled her. Constantly dealing with nobility that were set on destroying each other had exhausted her. An assassination attempt had left her anxious.

But it was the return of the Seeker from the Emerald Graves three days earlier than planned than took the prize.

“You look like you have seen a ghost,” Cassandra remarked.

The ambassador had virtually dragged her into her office as soon as she’d crossed the causeway into Skyhold’s courtyard. She had not been given any sort of explanation either, though she was questioned as to where the Inquisitor was. Lady Trevelyan had asked her to return to Skyhold immediately. She had done quite a bit of work in the Graves, and was eager to get a move on her new missions. Cassandra was to relay those projects to the rest of the council.

Cassandra had explained that very calmly to Josephine, taking in the other’s severely rattled state with a curious eye. Should she be worried? Josephine was not an easily shaken woman.

“I feel it,” the ambassador replied, sighing back into her chair. She shook her head before offering Cassandra a small smile. “Your return has taken me by surprise, is all.”

“Has it?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “We have returned early before. It is a small matter.”

“Well, not entirely,” Josephine replied slowly. She blushed – an expression of guilt? – as she settled her hands in her lap before her. “Had the Inquisitor arrived early, it would have been a disaster.”

“… and why is that?”

Josephine shifted uncomfortably in her chair, feeling the full weight of Cassandra’s piercing gaze. “Tell me, Seeker Pentaghast, did Evelyn… mention anything to you about our last Council meeting?”

“She may have,” Cassandra allowed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Something about a ball, I seem to remember.”

“Yes,” Josephine nodded. “I wished to throw her a ball for her naming day, to be celebrated by all the nobles who have rallied to the Inquisition’s cause. But… the Inquisitor was… resistant to the idea.”

Cassandra snorted. “You mean she hated the idea,” she guessed. It was something she and the Inquisitor had in common – a disdain for frivolous parties where nothing was achieved outside of marriage contracts, trade pacts, and political alliances. It was exhausting, trying to outmaneuver the people you were talking to; it was so much easier when you could just stab your enemy with a sword.

“She was _highly resistant_ ,” Josephine insisted. “But her naming day is a special occasion; it would be rude of me to not do anything. So, I have come up with a solution that I think will make all parties happy.”

“Out with it, Ambassador.”

“We are throwing the Inquisitor a naming day celebration,” Josephine said quickly, her words coming out in a rush. Cassandra had to listen carefully to get them all. “All of the Inquisition is in on the secret, and many are helping with the necessary arrangements.”

“ _All_ of the Inquisition?” Cassandra demanded. “Is that what they should be doing? We are in the middle of a war!”

“And wars require distractions,” Josephine countered, “to improve and maintain a high level of morale. Even the Commander agreed that it was a good idea.” She paused, but Cassandra didn’t reply, so she plowed forward with her explanations. “Those members of the Inquisition that the Inquisitor is closest to will attend a private party, here in the Great Hall. Madame Vivienne has helped me in planning that.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. Anything that Vivienne had created was likely to be sickeningly Orlesian and thoroughly expensive. Wonderful.

“The rest of the Inquisition will have a celebration in the courtyard,” Josephine continued. “Cullen has made a rotating schedule for the soldiers, so that we never have too many people in the same place at one time. And guards have been selected for watch duty the whole night. They will, unfortunately, be left out of the festivities, but we are offering them financial compensation.”

Josephine reached into a pile of papers on one side of the desk; she pulled out a small envelope and held it out to Cassandra.

“What is that?” Cassandra asked, taking the envelope. Her name – her full, entire name, Maker bless whoever wrote it – was written on the front in looping gold calligraphy. It also smelled terrible.

“Your invitation,” Josephine replied. Cassandra’s eyes flashed at her. “To the more private party.”

Cassandra sighed. She should have guessed that Josephine would plan something like this. It was entirely like the ambassador. She suspected that Leliana had been in on this from the beginning as well. On their own, each was a formidable woman; together, they were incorrigible.

“I do not think this party advisable,” she said.

“Lady Cassandra-”

“The Inquisitor believes there are better things for us to do with our time,” Cassandra continued. “I am inclined to agree. Parties are frivolous, and wastes of the money we have worked so hard to accumulate. We cannot be distracted from the fight with Corypheus, and that is all this-”

“Did I mention there is a plot afoot?”

Cassandra froze, eyes narrowing. “A plot?” she repeated. What kind of plot? Was there to be an attempt on the Inquisitor’s life?

Josephine leaned forward; there was a tactical gleam to her eyes, and Cassandra wondered what the other woman’s aim was. “Are you aware that our Commander is harboring feelings for the Inquisitor?”

Cassandra inhaled sharply. “Yes?” she breathed. 

“Evelyn feels the same,” Josephine continued. “But both of them are convinced that the other does not reciprocate their feelings. This party… it has become something of a ruse, to get the two of them together.”

“How?” Cassandra asked, unable to help the excited edge to her voice.

“Well, it began with Varric and Dorian…”

Cassandra listened with rapt attention as Josephine filled her in on all the details of the party. She couldn’t believe it – she’d known of Evelyn’s feelings, of course. The Inquisitor had revealed the truth when she’d learned of the Commander’s problems with lyrium. And of course, Cassandra had known of his feelings; she had read enough romance novels to know a longing gaze when she saw it.

She sighed, her heat fluttering in her chest. It was just so romantic!

“Do I have your promise of secrecy then?”

“Absolutely.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Do you need anything else? Any further aid?”

“I believe Varric and Dorian have it well under control,” Josephine replied. “Though I should tell you that we are each giving the Inquisitor a naming day present, if you choose to indulge her.”

“Yes, that would be traditional…”

“I’m sure Lady Vivienne has some suggestions-”

“Oh, no,” Cassandra said, smiling lightly. “I know just the thing.”

* * * * *

It only took five minutes for Cullen to remember why he hated Val Royeaux. The city was swarming with people; the nobles were sniffing at the commoners with disdain, merchants were loudly hawking their wares, and street urchins were everywhere, running to and fro to find spare coppers. Over everything, the smell of Chantry incense hung in the air, burning his nose, and the cries of the sisters reciting the Chant of Light could be heard on every corner. Dorian seemed completely unaffected, but Cullen couldn’t help the grimace that settled onto his features.

He still wasn’t entirely sure why he was there in the first place. Two days ago, Dorian had come to him late in the evening and requested that he accompany the mage on a trip to Val Royeaux. He’d mentioned something about needing a new blade for his staff. Cullen had protested – staff blades _really_ weren’t his area of expertise – but the other had insisted.

Cullen had tried to resist, but Dorian was a very persuasive man. He was also insufferably annoying until he got his way. He’d finally relented, telling himself that this would be a good opportunity to size up the atmosphere of the Orlesian public; he intended to visit several taverns come nightfall, listen to gossip about the Inquisition. Analytical information gathering, he called it.

Or at least, that was what he was going to put on the report he submitted to Leliana.

Dorian pulled him into a shop suddenly. Cullen blinked at the sudden dimness after being in the warm sunlight. He frowned. Was this a jewelry store? Were staff blades normally jeweled? He’d never seen one like that before.

“I don’t see any staff blades here,” he remarked. “Do you need certain gemstones? For… magical amplification, or something?”

Dorian’s gaze was scornful. “Magical amplification?” he repeated. “My dear Commander, what in Thedas are you talking about?”

Cullen scowled at the other man. “I don’t know!” he huffed. “Why else would we be in a jewel shop?”

“I like being surrounded by pretty things,” Dorian said, winking suggestively at the man behind the counter. The poor soul stiffened and walked away to help another customer.

“Do you enjoy being around them, or frightening them?” Cullen asked dryly.

“Alas, but my handsome countenance often frightens the less confident,” Dorian replied. He sighed. “It is a heavy burden to bear, but I will carry on.”

The mage stepped forward, observing a rack filled with glittering, unset gemstones. Several guards stood nearby, no doubt to preserve their employer’s wares. They eyed Dorian warily, an action that amused the mage greatly, if the crinkling of his eyes were any indication. He beckoned Cullen over.

“Tell me, Commander, what do you think of opals?”

“Opals?” Cullen repeated. He looked down at the stones; were these all the same kind of gemstone? They were all different colors… some were black, glittering with red and black hues, while others were reddish orange, emitting purple, green, and yellow sparks in the light. Others were blue or purple, twinkling with green lights. “They’re… nice, I suppose.”

Dorian sighed. “You know, I have a theory that the word ‘nice’ is only used when people cannot think of a better adjective,” he said. “This tea is very nice! She’s a very nice person! What a nice day!” He shook his head. “Terribly blasé.”

“Well, what did you want me to say?” Cullen demanded.

“What you _think_ ,” the mage replied. “You do have opinions, yes?”

“On jewels?” Cullen snorted. “Not particularly.”

Why would he? He didn’t wear gemstones. He’d once had a sword with a small ruby set in the pommel, but he’d left that behind in Kirkwall. It had had too many bad memories associated with it.

Dorian sighed again and walked over to a counter further into the store. Cullen followed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are those?” he asked, looking down into the case. These gemstones were set in metal, and looked to be jewelry. There were ear baubles, rings, necklaces, and pendants. Ropes of pearls sat next to glittering emeralds and blazing sapphires. Diamonds of every color imaginable were nestled in gold, silver, and copper.

“Sending someone a gift?” Cullen asked.

Dorian chuckled. “Oh, no,” he replied. “Though I do need to think of a suitable name day present for Evelyn.”

That gave Cullen pause. He hadn’t even thought of getting Evelyn a gift, though he wasn’t sure if that made him thoughtless or entirely too busy. Should he buy her something? Most of her inner circle was in on the secret of the party; they would definitely be getting her presents. But should he? Would it be appropriate? They were friends, but to suggest that their relationship was as close as, say, her relationship with Dorian, or the Iron Bull...

“I was thinking of procuring her some select vintages from one of my favorite vineyards,” Dorian continued, seemingly oblivious to Cullen's brooding. “Our dear Inquisitor has appalling taste in wine, you know; I feel compelled to educate her.” He paused. “Though perhaps I should get her something else as well… a few bottles of wine won’t last her very long!” He barked out a laugh before turning to Cullen. “And what of you, Commander? Getting Evelyn something?”

“I… um, well, yes, I suppose I should, right?” Cullen rambled. “That is the tradition.”

“… you haven’t given this any thought at all, have you.”

Cullen flushed. “Not at all,” he admitted.

“My dear Commander, if you are going to make a good impression on the Inquisitor, you do have to think about these sorts of things,” the mage admonished him. “It’s all part of the process of courtship!”

“Courtship?” Cullen made an amused sound. “I wasn’t aware I was _courting_ the Inquisitor, Dorian.”

“You like her, she likes you,” Dorian said, waving his hand about. “She wants you to make the first move, you’re too shy to do so. It’s all very childish. I went through a similar phase once. Of course, I was twelve. And I preferred boys to girls.” The guard nearby gave him a strange look, and Dorian sighed. "That's really  _not_ what you think it means," he snapped in the guard's direction. 

“She likes me? She’s told you that?” Cullen asked sharply. If Dorian knew something and wasn’t telling him… no. The mage had made it entirely too clear that he was willing to play matchmaker, should Cullen give the word. If Evelyn had told Dorian of any feelings she had, Cullen would know about them. He was sure of it.

“Well, no,” Dorian huffed. “But she doesn’t have to. It’s overwhelmingly obvious, a point I keep making to you and which you keep forgetting. But, now, back to more important matters - what are you going to get the Inquisitor?”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed at the mage’s question, his mind finally connecting the dots. The trip to Val Royeaux, the jewelry merchant… it all made sense now. “Are you trying to trick me into buying the Inquisitor jewelry?” he demanded.

“ _Trick_ you?” Dorian had the arrogance to sound offended. “I wasn’t aware I was being even the slightest bit subtle, Commander."

“I can’t buy Evelyn jewelry!” Cullen insisted.

“And why not?”

“It’s too much!” Cullen replied. “You get your _lover_ jewelry, not your commanding officer!”

“Is that all she is to you? Your _commanding officer_?”

Cullen sighed. “Of course not,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I still hardly think it an appropriate gift.”

“The best gifts rarely are,” Dorian chuckled. He quieted at Cullen’s glare. “Honestly, Commander, I’m not suggesting that you buy her a ring.” He rolled his eyes. “You southern people – always jumping to conclusions.”

“And what would you suggest then? One of those… chain things?” He waved vaguely in the direction of a long, thin chain of gold attached to a slender, curved bar of gold with twin inset diamonds.

“Heavens, no!” Dorian laughed. “You’re not ready for what that entails, Commander!” Cullen frowned, wondering what precisely he’d pointed to – he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. He’d assumed it was a strange necklace… was that not true? From Dorian’s mirth, he was guessing it wasn’t. “No, I was thinking something more along the lines of… earrings!”

“… earrings?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Dorian said, sauntering over to look at another glass cabinet of jewels, “but the Inquisitor always wears earrings.”

Cullen paused. He’d never thought about it before, but Dorian was right. Evelyn always wore earrings. She generally stuck to simple studded gems, nothing that would get caught in her hair or on a helmet.

“Evelyn likes being feminine,” the mage continued. “It’s why she keeps her hair as long as possible, and why she wears cosmetics even when she’s traversing the depths of the Fallow Mire.”

“But she hates dresses.”

“She hates the dresses _Josephine_ and _Leliana_ insist she wear to events,” Dorian corrected. “Which is, perhaps, to say she hates Orlesian fashion. Wouldn't you? It's all corsets and lace and petticoats." He made a distasteful noise. "She quite likes dresses, when she gets to pick them out herself.”

“And how do you know this?”

Dorian rolled his eyes again, making an exasperated sigh. “Because her secrets are completely safe in my confidences. And no, the fact that she likes dresses wasn’t told to me in confidence,” he said. “Also because she is a very dear friend of mine.”

“Has she told you that she likes jewelry?”

“Actually, no, she detests most of it,” Dorian said flatly. “She likes earrings – and that’s it. Necklaces, pendants, bracelets, rings… they all get in the way. She doesn’t like feeling like an ornament. Surely you can understand why?”

He could. It made sense – Evelyn had taken the position of the Herald reluctantly, and the Inquisitor only slightly less so. She did not like being the center of attention, didn’t want all of the credit for what she was doing. Even when it was well deserved. It was likely why she hesitated on difficult decisions, as well; she didn't want to draw attention to herself by making the wrong decision, offending people.  It must be difficult for her to be feminine then without becoming a centerpiece, since the sole point of so many noble fashions _was_ to draw attention.

He walked closer to where Dorian was standing. The cabinet before him was filled with all kinds of earrings – some were studs, others were rings, and still others were long and dangly. He paid attention to the first type. There were so many to choose from! How did people pick out just one pair?

“She likes dawnstone,” Dorian murmured, pointing to a pair of tiny, purple gemstones set in silverite.

“Does she?” Cullen smiled; she _would_ like dawnstone. It matched her eyes.

“She mentioned it once when we were in the Emprise. We collected a good lot of it on the way to rooting out the Red Templars from the Tower of Bone.” Dorian chuckled. “You should have seen her – so reluctant to hand it over to the requisition officers!”

“She would like those then,” Cullen said.

Dorian smiled, and for once, there was no mirth in it. “Cullen, she would _love_ those.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! :) Any feedback is most appreciated :)


	9. Peaches and a Puss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra makes a deal, and Sera contemplates what to get the Inquisitor for her naming day.

Day 8

“No! I forbid it!” Cassandra lunged across the table, eager to grasp the book from Varric’s hand – but the dwarf was too quick. He scuttled out of her reach, chuckling at her scowl.

“You forbid it?” he repeated. “Strong words, Seeker.”

“You cannot give that to Evelyn as a naming day present!” she snapped.

“That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?” Varric asked, holding the book behind his back. “I mean… _you_ seem to like it well enough.” He smirked at her.

Cassandra hated the blush that rose over her cheekbones. It still pained her to admit it – but yes, she loved Varric’s work. It had started with _Swords & Shields_. It was disgustingly magnificent; each time, it made her face burn with its brazen descriptions and schmaltzy words. But oh, how it made her swoon. It made her feel… well, it made her feel things that she did not want to discuss with Varric Tethras, of all people.

She’d branched out to his other works, curious to see how good of a writer he truly was. What she had discovered was very frustrating, and very intriguing. Varric did not just have one romance serial – _Swords & Shields_ was merely the latest and most popular in a string of deplorably delicious pornographic works. The book merchant had informed her that while most of them weren’t incredibly popular, they had a staunchly loyal fanbase. Mostly comprised of rich, elderly women.

“So, care to explain to me why I can’t give my own books to someone?”

Varric’s question brought her out of her thoughts. She blinked once, and then resumed her scowl. “She is the Inquisitor,” she snapped. “She does not need to be reading your trite stories!”

“You’re a potential candidate for the next Divine,” Varric said dryly. He crossed his arms over his chest, a contemplative smirk on his features. “What does it say about our religion that its leaders enjoy smutty literature?”

Cassandra closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out through her nose before she replied. “Life in the chantry can be… lonely.”

“Andraste’s tits!” Varric muttered, taking a step back. “That’s more than I needed to know, Seeker! Ever!”

“What - that’s _not_ what I meant!” Cassandra snapped. “You perverted little dwarf!”

“This is why I’m the resident writer, and not you,” Varric sighed. “‘Little dwarf’? Let’s just be redundant, now, shall we?”

“I am sorry,” Cassandra said, scowling at him. “That was unkind of me.”

“You? Unkind?” Varric shook his head. “Never.”

She sat down hard at the table between them. They’d knocked over Varric’s ale in their scuffle earlier. She would have bought him another to replace it, but Varric really drank too much. And she was angry with him. He would just have to remain thirsty.

“What is this really about, Seeker?” To Cassandra’s surprise, Varric sat down across from her. She’d expected him to leave at the first opportunity, to go and hide in whatever hole he used as private office. He still had the book hidden, but he had a genuinely interested expression on his face.

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“You like my books, don’t even pretend,” he replied. “You’re friends with Snippy. So why would you get upset that I’m giving her my books? Don’t you normally… you know, share? With what few friends you have?”

Cassandra hesitated; it sounded truly petty, now that she thought of it. She didn’t know if she should tell him. Would he think even worse of her than he already did? Was that even possible? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps he would not even care.

“I wanted to give them to her myself,” she finally murmured.

“You’re shitting me,” Varric breathed.

She looked up at him, scowling. “Why ask me at all if you accuse me of lying?” she demanded.

He threw up his hands defensively. “Hey, hey, no need to get touchy,” he said lightly. “I just… wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“I thought she might enjoy them. That is all.”

“And you couldn’t think of anything else to give her?”

“I do not have many hobbies, Varric!” Cassandra snapped. Her scowl softened and her anger deflated when she saw the taken aback expression on her face. He truly was just trying to understand. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, believe me, I noticed,” the dwarf muttered. She pretended not to hear him. “But… why is it such a big deal? You and Snippy are friends, real friends… she’d like anything that you got her.”

How did she explain this? How did she explain that this had been something that she wanted to share with Evelyn, something that they could like together? It sounded ridiculous, even in her head. She was not a child, and she knew that Evelyn already valued their friendship. It was just… the Inquisitor was one of the first true friends Cassandra had had in a long time. Evelyn was the only other friend she’d ever had who simultaneously loved romanticism and the battlefield, and her first female friend who detested balls and politicking.

That was why she’d wanted to give Evelyn a copy of _Swords & Shields_. It was something else they could discuss, something more for them to talk about, that wasn’t related to Inquisition matters. With the proverbial storm brewing over their head, they needed every opportunity to escape. This could have been theirs.

She did her best to explain that to Varric. To his credit, the dwarf waited until she’d finished to smirk at her. She scowled across the table at him. “You already get to give her Cullen!” she snapped. “Isn’t that gift enough?”

“Hey, there’s no guarantee that any of this will work out!” Varric protested. “I gotta have a fallback!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and stood, making to leave. This was getting her nowhere, and she didn’t have much time to think up a new gift for the Inquisitor. At least there were dozens of merchants with their wares parked right outside the gates.

“Alright.”

She paused, halfway across the tavern to the door. She turned, looking back at Varric. “What?” she asked.

“You can give her _Swords & Shields_,” he said. She gasped at her luck, only to have it catch in her throat when Varric held up a finger. “But I have one condition!”

“… yes?” Cassandra asked warily.

“I still get to autograph them.”

“ _That’s_ your condition?”

“No,” Varric replied. “Well, I guess it is a condition. It’s happening either way. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” He looked around him, to see if anyone was watching them, before stepping forward. “I’m in the process of writing a new serial, a new romance serial. It’s… aimed at a different crowd. Nevarra, specifically.”

He took a step closer to her. “See, Nevarran merchants are tricky,” he continued. “I’m having some difficulty getting it past their import regulations. They claim my work is… oh, I think they used the term ‘vulgar’. Not very nice of them. Anyways, I need an in, someone to promote my merchandise and give it a good name.” He eyed her cautiously. “And you know… no one could back it better than a member of the Pentaghast family.”

“You want me to bypass the Nevarran customs laws?” Nevarra had some of the strictest trade regulations in Thedas. Cassandra herself didn’t understand how all of the laws worked; it was an old system, archaic even, and probably ready to be updated, but there were more pressing problems for King Markus. Namely dealing with the constant threat of Tevinter imperialism.

“I know, I know, it’s a bit tricky!” He lowered his voice. “But it also means you’d get copies before they’re released to the general public-”

“Done.”

“… but I haven’t even explained how we’d go about-”

“Done.”

* * * * *

Josephine surveyed the Great Hall with a great deal of satisfaction. The entire hall had been thoroughly scrubbed until the flagstones shone and the stained glass windows glittered. Madame Vivienne had had long silk banners posted throughout the hall, the insignia of the Inquisition prominent in black threaded with silver. Additional trestle tables had been brought in, and were well stocked with fat, yellow candles.

The Inquisitor’s throne for the event had even been decorated, silver ribbons wrapped about its spines. A small table was set off to the side, and gifts from foreign nobles were already pouring in. Although Josephine had not sent out messages about the Inquisitor’s naming day, it appeared that some nobles knew of the day’s importance anyways. Hints dropped from her family, perhaps? Packages of varying sizes in fancy, colored paper were everywhere. She’d even had to set guards up to make sure no one stole them.

“It looks very nice, does it not?”

Josephine turned as Vivienne walked up, a pleased smile on her face. “The hall looks lovely, Madame Vivienne,” Josephine said.

“I was afraid that we were never going to get all the dirt out of the corners, but the Inquisition has surprised me once again,” Vivienne said. She motioned for Josephine to walk with her. “I have set up a place over there for the food and drink.” She motioned with a hand to the corner where Gatsi normally studied his mosaic pieces. “It is close enough to the kitchens that servants can refresh the table without much interference.”

“And Gatsi?” Josephine prompted. “Where has he been moved?”

“I found him suitable quarters in the guest wing,” Vivienne replied, a note of displeasure in her voice. “It took a great deal of convincing.” 

“I can assure you that the kitchens are ready for the evening,” she said instead. “All of the foodstuffs have arrived, and the staff are going over their inventory lists tomorrow morning. They have already started to prepare those items they can make in advance.”

“Were you able to procure everything on your list?” Vivienne asked. “I must admit, I was a bit worried about some of the items.”

“Of course,” Josephine replied. “I have my methods.”

Vivienne smiled. “That you do, darling,” she agreed. She flicked her eyes from side to side, making sure they were sufficiently secluded. “Our other affair is going well, too. My seamstress has finished the body of the gown, and is now working on the details. It will be ready for the night of the party.”

“Splendid!” Josephine said. “I have found the necessary undergarments, and several pieces of jewelry that I will have brought to the Inquisitor.” She paused as several workers passed them by. “Leliana has gotten the shoes as well. I will have those later this afternoon.”

“Shall I leave the dress in your office when it is finished?”

“That will not be necessary,” Josephine said quickly; she didn’t want to leave anywhere that people could potentially find it. It was to be a very fine dress, and it would terrible were someone to abscond with it. “When it is complete, I will come and retrieve it personally, to ensure that it does not pass into the wrong hands.”

“Very well, my dear, I will send someone when it is finished,” Vivienne said. She scowled as a servant dropped a tray, decorations clattering all over the floor. “Forgive me, ambassador. I have work to do.”

“Of course,” Josephine said, quickly leaving the hall before Vivienne started yelling at the poor, unfortunate soul who’d erred.

She would not wish such a fate on her worst enemy.

* * * * *

Blackwall laid down his tools.

He was quite proud of his latest creation. He didn’t claim to be a great craftsman. His abilities were more suited to creating small, roughly hewn toys for the children roaming Skyhold. He felt badly for them; most were refugees, fleeing the destruction of the Mage-Templar War or Corypheus’ minions. If his toys – crude as they were – were able to relieve some of the sadness he saw in their faces, he was more than happy to spend his hours whittling away in the stables.

But he’d never made anything for the Inquisitor before. The stakes were a little different this time.

He hoped that she liked it. He’d put quite a bit of thought into this piece. It was a small wooden figurine of a cat sitting on its haunches, one paw in the air. Lady Trevelyan had told him that she’d had a cat back in Ostwick, a great orange tabby that she’d named Spice. She’d spoken of her pet so wistfully. It had seemed a perfect opportunity for a present.

“What’s that?”

Blackwall looked up to see Sera approaching him; she was looking at the cat statue curiously. “It’s a present for the Inquisitor,” he replied.

“A puss?” Sera asked. She bent down so that the figurine was at eye-level.

“It’s a cat,” Blackwall sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Aye, a puss,” Sera said, standing back up. “Wish I could do that, but I never learned knives, yeah?” She shook her head. “I dunno what to get Quizzy.”

“You’ll think of something,” Blackwall said. “It took me a few days to think of this, but once it did, I knew it was perfect.”

“But that’s just it, innit?” Sera asked. “Quizzy’s got everything! Tits fallin’ all over her make sure of that. Can’t buy her a gift, that’s not right, and can’t make something because I don’t know knives.”

“Well, what would you like to get for _your_ naming day?” Blackwall asked, sighing.

“A puss,” Sera replied, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Blackwall chuckled at her joke. “I don’t think that’s what the Inquisitor likes, Sera,” he admitted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sera said, waving a hand. “Got it. Too bad that. I mean, _woof_.”

Blackwall shifted uncomfortably. There was really nothing appropriate to say to that. He had that problem with Sera a lot. She was funny, and he thought her jokes quite witty. But… what did you say to half of her remarks? What could you say? Most of the time he just laughed.

“Mmm, maybe peaches,” the elf continued thoughtfully. She sniggered. “Tell her to give ‘em to Cully-Wully and let him practice.”

Blackwall couldn’t help but chortle at that. “I think the Commander needs to confess first,” he replied.

“Dunno,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe if she gives him the peaches, he’ll get the hint. Finally. Damn oblivious twit.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I mean really, he’s got eyes, and she’s got an arse, and there’s nothing for it, but he’s always got that stick up his arsehole! All for it, you know?”

He nodded. “He’ll tell her eventually, Sera,” he said, picking his tool up again. He needed to put the finishing touches on the cat’s fur.

“You think?”

“Men like him always tell women they love them eventually,” he replied. “If they don’t, someone else comes and takes them.”

“Have you told Prissy Pants you love her?”

Blackwall nearly dropped his tools. “What?” he asked sharply. He turned around, but Sera ran away with a cackle before he could another word in edgewise. He sighed and returned to his work, ignoring how his heart beat faster in his chest. What a silly question to ask – the situations were entirely different! Not to mention… no, he couldn’t afford to think of _that_ now.

His hand slipped and his knife cut into his finger. He dropped it with a curse, pulling back so that no blood got onto the Inquisitor’s gift. It wasn’t a bad wound, and he’d certainly had worse, but it was still annoying. It was a rookie mistake, something he hadn’t done in ages. But he’d been distracted, his thoughts not on whittling. He sighed, staunching the blood with a spare rag.

Damn that elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I made up a few details here (about Nevarra, Varric's work, etc.) but I needed it for the chapter haha. Hopefully it works!
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated :)


	10. Could Have Been Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen debates on what to say to the Inquisitor, and Cole's disappearance has Evelyn suspicious.

Day 9

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Cullen looked at the small black box on his desk. It was sitting there, rather unobtrusively, but it beckoned him like a beacon in the dark. He’d briefly slipped it into one of his desk drawers in an attempt to stop thinking about it, but it hadn’t worked. Instead, he'd only thought of it more and worried that someone would take it when he wasn’t there. So it sat on his desk, as innocent as could be.

Had he made the right decision?

Dorian had strongly encouraged the purchase. And of course, it was perfectly natural to get someone a gift on their naming day, especially if they were your friend. It was expected. He and Evelyn were friends, even if his own feelings extended out of the realm of platonic relationships. She had given him gifts before – little trinkets she’d found on her various journeys across Thedas.

Somehow, however, the earrings felt far more intimate than anything he’d ever given a person before. It was something a husband would buy his wife, a lord would buy his beloved mistress. Would Evelyn interpret it that way?

Half of him hoped that she would. It might be easier than having to explain everything. Perhaps if she understood what he was trying to convey with the gift… no, he was kidding himself. There was no way he was going to be able to tell her how he felt without actually _telling_ her anything.

That brought up another point – what _was_ he going to say to her?

He had to say something. There were so many emotions in his chest, emotions that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for a long time. He had to get them out into the open before he burst.

The time spent on the road to Val Royeaux had given him time to think – time that wasn’t consumed with reports, training exercises, or missions from the war table. His thoughts had naturally turned to Evelyn. She was an attractive woman; any idiot could see that. She was also the Inquisitor, and with her position came a large chunk of political power. Even if she didn’t choose a romantic partner for herself, she was likely to be pushed into a relationship eventually. For the good of the Inquisition, Josephine would likely say.

It had made him wonder – would he be able to look at her, on someone else’s arm, staring up at them? Would he be able to continue in his position as her military commander if she attached herself to another? He didn’t want to look back at this time and think that it could’ve been him, that he could’ve been the one to make her happy.

It was that thought that had driven him to the conclusion that he needed to confess. There was really no other option. If she rejected him… he could deal with rejection; disappointment was nothing new to him. His whole life prior to the Inquisition had been a series of disappointments. He would apologize for putting her in an awkward position, and then he would continue on as the commander. He could live with that.

What he couldn’t live with was another man loving her in his stead, knowing that he hadn’t even _tried_.

But knowing that still didn’t tell him what to say to her. He wasn’t good with words; he was no master at writing love poetry, no literary genius. He was a military man, and he always had been; his writing was brief, to the point, and designed to get his point across as easily as possible.

Nor was he an accomplished orator. He could give the occasional speech before a battle to invigorate his men, but that was completely different. In the face of an enemy, little needed to be said other than the truth. Fight hard, or die - that kind of bravado was easy to pull out of thin air. But he’d be completely alone with Evelyn, and there would be no impending doom to spur on his charisma.

He should just be honest, right? That was generally a good idea. He should just tell her how he felt, in simple terms so that she understood exactly what he meant. Avoid large words, unnecessary metaphors, or vague half-truths. Perhaps his martial outlook could be beneficial here.

He should tell her how strong she was, how much he looked up to her. Despite her misgivings about the Inquisition, she threw her heart and soul into protecting the ordinary people of Thedas. She had given her all to this cause when she had had every right to resist them. Despite her reluctance, she never hesitated from the duty she had taken upon herself. She hated confrontation, hated politics, and yet she had accepted them as a part of the task that had been set before her.

It took a great deal of personal strength to do such a thing. It took even more to do so with a fair and equal hand. Evelyn always weighed both sides of a decision before committing to one. She always attempted to do the most amount of good for the largest number of people. Some people had called her dithering a weakness, but Cullen saw it as a strength. She did not take the lives of those who served her lightly.

That was what had first drawn him to her. It wasn’t her beauty or her wit. It wasn’t her faith in the Maker, or her reverence to Andraste. It was her strength of will, her determination to see this through.

Everything else was secondary to that.

He would have to find a way to convey that to Evelyn. He would have to find a way to tell her what she meant to him. And he had a day and a half left. He sighed.

Love never was an easy task.

* * * * *

Evelyn sat down wearily, grateful that Solas had already started the fire. She was tired, exhausted even, and her bones ached from the constant walking. They had left the horses at the Inquisition camp on the outskirts of the Emerald Graves. It was futile to take horses up the stony cliffs to Skyhold; they were too likely to turn a hoof and break a leg. Master Dennett was very specific about where horses could no longer be ridden. He’d even had a sign made out.

She liked horses. She hated the thought of one having to be put down because it had gone lame. But she also hated the thought of walking up the mountain to the Inquisition’s stronghold when her legs ached and protested her every movement.

But that could wait until tomorrow, she thought with a groan. For now, all that she wanted was a good night’s sleep.

“Tired?”

Evelyn looked up; Solas had a sympathetic look on his face as he sat back on his haunches, fueling the fire with small logs.

“Exhausted,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “If I am half as tired as you look, I’d wager I look rather weary myself,” he admitted. Satisfied with the fire’s strength, he sat down, pulling some travel rations out of his bag to eat. He gave her a quizzical glance as he began eating. “Have you been sleeping well, Inquisitor?”

She snorted. “It’s hard to get a good night’s sleep when there’s always a root in your back,” she replied wryly. “Or a rock. Or a small animal. Did you know a squirrel got into my bedroll the other night? Blighted thing bit me.”

“It was probably much more scared of you than you were of it,” the elf told her, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“I wasn’t scared,” she snapped. “It just… startled me, is all.”

“Of course.”

Evelyn looked around the small campsite they’d made. She had erected the tents while Solas had made the fire. They were just on the edge of a forest, the trees soon giving way to the rocky slopes of the mountains. Were it to snow, the trees would offer them some protection. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that; it was already cold enough.

“Where’s Cole?” she asked suddenly. She hadn’t seen the spirit all day. Normally, they left Cole to his own devices on their journeys. He always showed up eventually, though often at the most inopportune times. But the sun had long since set behind the mountains, and he still had yet to appear.

“I was wondering that myself,” Solas replied. “Perhaps he has found something in the forest to interest him.”

“Perhaps,” Evelyn allowed. She paused, a thought coming to her. “Say, you don’t think he would go back to Skyhold without us?” It wasn’t impossible – they were still a day’s journey away from the castle, but what was distance to a spirit?

“I cannot say,” Solas said. “Maybe, if he felt that he was needed elsewhere. Do you want to go and look for him?”

Evelyn snorted. “Like I could find Cole in the middle of a forest in the dark,” she muttered. “I’d have better luck finding Sera in bed with a mage.”

“Never say never, Inquisitor,” Solas said, chuckling. “I have seen less likely things in my time.”

“Like what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Solas stared back at her evenly. “Like you physically walking the Fade,” he said flatly.

“Ah.”

“Traveling through the Fade with you, in the flesh,” he continued. “Corypheus himself seems an impossibility – one of the ancient magisters who blighted the Golden City, and brought darkspawn into the world? It seems highly unlikely such a creature would still exist.”

“I see your point, Solas,” Evelyn said quickly. The elf smiled at her, and resumed eating. She saw it all too well. “Still, I think you understand what I meant.”

“Better than most, I would say.”

“Should we be worried?” Evelyn asked. “About Cole, I mean.”

“He will be alright,” Solas said calmly. “The talisman will protect him from any wayward mages who might wish him ill. And he can protect himself quite well, as you know.”

She nodded. She was worrying over nothing; Cole was perfectly able to defend himself. Better than most, actually, considering he could disappear into thin air if he so desired. But his absence was unnerving; traveling had been strange enough with only two companions. Now she was down to one?

Something in her gut was deeply suspicious. And she didn’t like it.

* * * * *

Josephine signed her name on the bottom of the letter with a flourish. She sat back with a sigh, setting her pen aside as she waited for the ink to dry. There was always something else to be done. She had long since wrapped up the party business; now, it was merely a waiting game for the Inquisitor’s return. But the business of the Inquisition itself was never truly over.

She was exhausted. Her regular duties as ambassador compounded with the arrangements for the Inquisitor’s naming day celebration had left her with less time to sleep than she would have liked. She feared there were dark circles under her eyes; she would have to conceal them as best as possible in the morning. She would not look haggard for the Inquisitor!

“She won’t blame you.”

Josephine yelped and nearly knocked her chair over in her haste to stand. Her hand went to her breast as she looked around for the source of the voice. She let out the breath she’d been holding when she saw Cole, crouched in the center of the room. He looked up at her guiltily.

“I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Perhaps you could have used the door then?” Josephine suggested, a trifle annoyed. She sat down in her chair, ignoring the thudding of her heart.

Cole stood, walking over to her hesitantly. “I heard things,” he admitted cautiously.

That gave Josephine pause. Cole wasn’t supposed to be here; he was supposed to be with the Inquisitor. Did that mean…? “Is the Inquisitor back?” she asked quickly.

“No,” the boy replied, shaking his head. “Voices singing, excited whispers, murmurings in the dark… so I came back.”

She worked through his ambiguous speech as best as she could. “You… heard people discussing the party we are throwing for the Inquisitor?” she guessed, and he nodded.

Josephine was at a loss for how to broach the subject with Cole. She was a skilled diplomat, yes, a master of words – but none of her training, none of the wealth of knowledge that she’d accumulated over the years, had anything to do with conversing with spirits. But she had to say something; she couldn’t have Cole ruining the surprise for the Inquisitor.

“Locked doors, sealed lips, though the possibility is at his fingertips,” the boy said in a sing-song voice. He nodded. “I will not tell her.”

Josephine sagged in visible relief. She had misunderstood the situation; of course Cole would know what she wanted. He could read the thoughts of others. It would be very easy for him to tell what she wanted.

“Thank you, Cole,” she said, smiling at the spirit.

“She will not thank you,” he said.

Josephine paused. “Of course not,” she said, smiling. Evelyn was too stubborn for that.

“She will like it though.”

“I hope so, Cole. I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title shamefully stolen from The Struts' song "Could Have Been Me". If you haven't heard their music yet, do yourself a favor and go listen! :) The lyrics are also the inspiration for Cullen's thoughts this chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is much appreciated :)


	11. Don't Play Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn returns to Skyhold for her naming day celebration (part 1 of 3).

Day 10

Today was the day.

And Josephine was a nervous wreck. She had been flitting around the keep the whole day, trying to be everywhere at once to make sure that all of her careful planning would bear fruit. She’d already averted a disaster in the kitchens – she’d certainly never seen a potato explode before – and shooed Sera away from the gift tables, where the mischievous elf had been drawing breasts on every gift note she could find.

Other than those few minor problems, however, things were going splendidly. The smells coming from the kitchen – minus the potato, of course – were absolutely delicious, and the hall was shining with splendor. Vivienne was directing traffic throughout the Great Hall, resplendent in a silver dress slashed with black silk. She waved absently to Josephine as the ambassador passed her by, but was too busy berating a couple of serving girls to strike up a conversation.

Josephine looked down at her own gown. She felt rather paltry compared to the Madame de Fer. She’d abandoned her normal, ruffled silk ensemble for a slimming green gown, the low neckline showing far more skin than she usually allowed. She’d pinned her black hair into an elaborate knot at the back of her neck, kept in place with copper and emerald pins; she hoped that it wasn’t falling down from all the running around that she was doing.

It was nearing nightfall, and there was still no sign of the Inquisitor. Cole had told her that the Inquisitor’s party had camped at the foot of the mountain, and it was a day’s hike to Skyhold. But there was no telling when the Inquisitor might actually arrive. There were so many variables to consider!

She walked over to the entryway, staring out into the twilight. She had told Cullen to pull the soldiers out of the courtyard, so as not to give away the surprise. The abandoned courtyard looked strange to her; normally, the Inquisition was bustling with people, and it was difficult to find an empty space. Now it was eerily empty, save for the sentries standing guard on the ramparts. Would that alert the Inquisitor that something was amiss?

Someone cleared their throat, and Josephine twirled around.

Cullen was standing before her, looking rather awkward. Despite the occasion, he hadn’t changed into a more suitable set of clothes. She supposed that was to be expected; Cullen wasn’t particularly fond of formal gatherings like this. But he seemed to have taken extra care with his hair today, and the stubble was gone from his jaw. And… was that… cologne? Josephine had to hide a smirk; she had a feeling she knew whom the Commander was trying to impress.

“Commander,” she said, amused.

Cullen handed her a sheet of parchment. “The guard rotation,” he said quickly. He looked around nervously, his eyes scanning the crowd - to check and see if the Inquisitor had arrived, no doubt. Josephine’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “As you requested.”

“She’s not here,” Josephine said softly, accepting the paper and placing it with the others on her writing board.

Cullen flushed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “She’s not?” he asked. Josephine wasn’t sure it was a question, so much as a personal reassurance.

“You will know when she arrives,” the ambassador continued. “Half of Skyhold will erupt in cheers.”

“And if I don’t hear them, I’m sure I’ll hear her cursing,” Cullen replied, the shadow of a grin tracing his lips.

Josephine sighed. “I have prepared myself for the worst,” she admitted. Cullen laughed; it was a little too fast, too high-pitched, betraying his nerves. Josephine had sympathy for him. She knew what he planned to do tonight – the whole keep knew, it seemed like. Although she was almost positive of a happy outcome, he clearly wasn’t so sure. She reached out, laying a hand on his arm. “You know, Commander, if you’d told me that you had nothing else to wear beforehand, I could have had something made for you,” she said, attempting to change the subject.

Cullen shook his head. “No, no, I don’t need any more clothing,” he said quickly. “Besides.” He looked around nervously. “The men need to see me in my armor. It’s… well, it’s fairly common in military groups.”

“I understand,” Josephine replied. “We all do what we must.” She winked at him then. “Besides, no one’s ensemble could outdo Madame de Fer’s. It was better of you not to try.”

That drew a laugh from him. “Orlesians,” he agreed.

“Forgive me, Commander, but I must go and check on the musicians.” Cullen nodded his head politely, and Josephine brushed past him with a smile. She paused after a few steps, and looked back over her shoulder, a grin on her face. “Try not to look too nervous.” Cullen flushed at that, stalking away to a corner.

Josephine had to suppress her giggle as she made her way up to the balcony. The musicians were warming up, arranging their music in the proper order and doing a final tuning adjustment. Fiona was standing at their head, an irritable expression on her face. She scowled when she saw Josephine, and the ambassador shrewdly decided that the musicians had had enough supervision.

She turned and made her way back downstairs. More people had crowded into the Great Hall by now; she had allowed some of the Inquisition’s soldiers to pack into the hall to alleviate the stuffed barracks. They would wait here to surprise the Inquisitor before moving out into the courtyard to set up the ale. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a stampede to see who could get to the beer the quickest.

“She’s here!”

Josephine turned around, trying to see who had spoken. She hadn’t recognized the voice. In a panic, she pushed her way through to the doors of the Great Hall, trying to look out into the darkness. She thought she saw two small figures walking up the stairs from the stables, but she couldn’t be sure. She motioned to two nearby soldiers. “Quick! Help me close these doors!”

The men rushed to help her, pushing the doors to the Great Hall closed. She whirled around then, facing the excited murmurings of the crowd. “Quiet!” she cried out, but it was no use; most of the soldiers couldn’t even see her, let alone hear her. Frustrated, she hopped upon a nearby table. “QUIET!” she yelled.

That got people’s attentions.

“The Inquisitor is almost here!” she continued. “We must wait until she opens the doors to surprise her!”

In the sudden quiet, she heard steps on the stone outside the hall, accompanied by murmured voices. Josephine quickly scampered down from the table, stepping forward so that she could greet the Inquisitor in person.

After all, it wouldn’t do for the host of the party to be seen yelling at people from the top of a table.

* * * * *

Evelyn’s feeling of suspicion from yesterday was even more pronounced.

There was no one in Skyhold – no one. She hadn’t seen a single soul save the guards on the walls and Master Dennett in the stables. No soldiers were out and about, the tavern was eerily silent, and even the refugees had gone into hiding. Had something happened while they were away? Something terrible?

She looked over to Solas, a worried frown on her brow. “What is going on here?” she asked quietly, hands unconsciously going to the sword at her back.

“I cannot say,” the elf replied warily, his eyes shifting across the courtyard. He looked as unsettled as she felt.

“The guards didn’t say anything as we entered the keep,” she continued. “Surely they would have mentioned it if something was awry?” She headed for the stairs that led up from the courtyard, heading for the Great Hall. Hopefully, one of her friends would be able to give her answers.

But… why were the doors to the hall shut? She never closed the doors to the hall; it was a signal that she was available to all, at all hours of the day. In fact, she had specifically ordered the doors to never close, save in the face of an emergency. That was even more suspicious.

Taking the steps two at a time, she quickly arrived at the doors. With a great shove, she pushed them open, heart hammering in her chest, fearing what was on the other side.

“HAPPY NAMING DAY!”

Evelyn almost tripped over feet in shock. Standing before here were hundreds of soldiers, packed tight into the confines of the hall. Their faces were a mixture of delight and apprehension, and she couldn’t tell which was more surprising. She tried to speak, and found that her mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed impatiently, eyes roving over the crowd to find a more familiar face.

There. She found it.

Josephine was standing at the front of the crowd, looking lovely in a green dress that accented the olive tones in her skin. She had a nervous smile on her face, and her knuckles were white against the writing board in her hand. “Inquisitor,” she said politely, stepping forward.

“Josie, what is this?” Evelyn asked, her voice low.

“May I be the first to personally wish you a happy naming day?” Josephine suggested.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. Of course. She’d said no to a ball, and Josephine had capitulated. But that hadn’t been the end of it, of course not. Josephine was far too tactical, and too stubborn, for that. She had to laugh at how cleverly she’d been outmaneuvered, _did_ laugh. Josephine’s expression jumped just a little, but she hid her confusion well. Anyone who didn’t know the ambassador wouldn’t even have caught the slip.

Evelyn finally caught her breath and stepped forward, placing a hand on Josephine’s shoulder. The Antivan tensed, waiting for her response. “Fuck you,” Evelyn said. The other woman’s eyes widened, but Evelyn was already drawing her in for a hug. Josephine sagged in her arms, the tension palpably rolling off her back.

Cheers erupted at her apparent acceptance of the surprise, and Evelyn couldn’t help but smile at the response of the Inquisition. She blinked furiously, desperate to get the sudden tears of happiness out of her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry, dammit! But it was just so… nice.

She hated it when people made a fuss over her; she was the Inquisitor, yes, but she was also just a person. Just a woman. It would be nice if that was _all_ people saw her as, but she knew it for an impossibility. They saw her as a figurehead, as the almighty head of the effort to bring down Corypheus. That was why she hadn’t wanted to hold the ball; she hated being the center of all their machinations, all their devices. She would go to the balls of Orlais when she had to, but it wasn’t something that she wanted to do on her naming day, of all days.

But this was nice. Something much more intimate, and much more sincere.

She pulled back from Josephine, a smile on her lips. “Fuck you very much,” she said quietly.

The ambassador smiled at her. “I take it that is as much of a ‘thank you’ as I am likely to receive,” she said wryly.

Evelyn laughed then. “Oh, you’ll wring one out of me eventually,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Josephine motioned to the crowd then, and the soldiers began pushing out of the Great Hall. Evelyn frowned, puzzled. Where were they going? Was this a party, or had Josephine just gathered everyone together to wish her a happy naming day? The latter seemed unlikely, but…

“Let me explain,” Josephine said quickly, accurately interpreting her confused expression. The ambassador grabbed her by the elbow, and steered her down the hall towards the entrance to her quarters. “This is a naming day celebration for you. But it is also a good opportunity for the men and women of Skyhold to let loose and enjoy themselves. As such, there will be two somewhat separate parties tonight.”

“Two parties?” Evelyn repeated. Josephine continued to push her towards her chambers.

“Yes,” the ambassador continued. “One for you, and your closest friends; that will be here, in the Great Hall. The other will be for the people who have chosen to follow you. They will celebrate in the courtyard.”

“How in Thedas did you get everyone to agree to this?” Evelyn demanded, climbing the last few stairs to her private quarters.

“I have my ways,” Josephine replied, chuckling.

“And everyone knows?”

“Everyone knows,” the ambassador replied. She shot Evelyn a smile over her shoulder. “How else could I have accomplished all of this in ten days?”

Evelyn paused when they finally reached her quarters. Vivienne was standing there, waiting for her. She looked stunning, the silver silk of her gown in stark contrast to her dark skin. An elderly woman stood nervously behind her, fiddling with her hands.

“Darling, it is wonderful to see you again,” Vivienne said, a broad smile on her face. She beckoned Evelyn over. “Come. I’ve already had a bath drawn for you. We must get you out of those rags.”

Evelyn scowled; her traveling clothes were most certainly _not_ rags, but it was a distinction likely lost on the mage. Vivienne looked flawless wherever she went; she had to have a spell that repelled dirt, or something like that. How else could she look pristine in the Fallow Mire?

A bath did sound nice, however. She followed Vivienne behind a dressing screen to find a steaming copper tub full of water. Her scowl dissipated in the wake of her appreciation. The mage turned around respectfully, and Evelyn quickly removed her dirty clothes before stepping into the tub. She sighed in relief as the hot water hit her skin. It was scented too, smelling faintly of roses.

The older woman from before was instantly there, helping her to clean her hair and handing her various sponges and soaps. Evelyn flushed slightly, embarrassed; she hadn’t had someone help her bathe since she was a small child, back in Ostwick. She didn’t like it; she might have been on par with royalty these days, but that didn’t mean she needed people to scrub her back for her.

When she was finished, the woman held her a fluffy towel. Evelyn stepped out of the tub reluctantly, the cool air from the balcony making her skin break out in gooseflesh. She quickly toweled off before moving to rub her hair dry without creating too many tangles. It was a losing battle; her dark locks were thick and unruly on the best of days, a fact that even expensive Orlesian beauty supplies couldn’t change.

Next came her smallclothes. She frowned, noticing how flimsy and lacy they were. She normally chose smalls that were practical, but these were anything but. Still, she put them on.

But where was her breastband?

She looked around at the old woman expectantly, but she was suddenly nowhere to be found. Evelyn came out from behind the dressing screen then, and gasped at what she saw.

Vivienne was holding a most beautiful gown. It was a delicate shade of lavender, and made completely of sheer silk. Its skirts looked fitted at the top, flaring out at the bottom to allow more room for movement. “Is that for me?” she asked quietly, stepping further into the room.

The mage looked over at her and smiled. “Of course, my dear,” she replied, handing the dress out. “Happy naming day.”

Evelyn snorted. Of course Vivienne’s present would be some form of clothing. Still, it was a lovely dress. She didn’t have many dresses; nor she did have many opportunities to wear them. Tonight, however, seemed like an appropriate occasion.

Vivienne and Josephine both helped slip the dress over her head; it pooled loosely around her body, and she looked over shoulder, frowning. Had they gotten her measurements wrong? But no – there was a series of tiny silk buttons lining the back of the dress. Josephine was currently working on them, her fingers moving quickly.

The gown only came up to her mid-back, leaving her shoulders exposed. The fabric was tight across her stomach, but stopped just short of her ribcage. Two thin strips of a much sheerer fabric covered her breasts, connected behind her neck by a thin band of white gemstones. It was certainly more skin than she was used to showing; she flushed, thinking of how exposed her breasts must be.

Not that there was anything to be ashamed of. She had lovely breasts. Or so Sera informed her.

Vivienne stepped back then, admiring their work. “My dear,” she said softly, “you look stunning.”

Josephine nodded in agreement. “She is right, Inquisitor,” she said. “You look very beautiful.”

Evelyn turned and walked to the mirror that stood next to her desk. She gasped when she saw her reflection. The woman in the mirror… that wasn’t her. Evelyn Trevelyan, the leader of the Inquisition, wore leathers and plate mail. She wore a sword, not jewels. She plodded about in boots; she didn’t wear fancy shoes. No, the woman in the mirror was lovely, dark hair contrasting with the pale silk that matched her eyes. But it wasn’t Evelyn Trevelyan.

She did, however, look like her mother.

Her throat caught as the thought came to her. But she didn’t have time to ponder it any longer, for suddenly there was a chair at the back of her knees, and Vivienne was promptly pushing her down. The older woman was back too, various hair styling implements in her hands.

Over the next twenty minutes, Evelyn found her hair thoroughly brushed, pulled, yanked, pinned, and prodded. Her scalp was throbbing by the time the woman was finished setting it into an elegant bun at the back of her head. A few tendrils had been left free to frame her face; they were curling ever so slightly, as they were wont to do. She had to admit, the hairstyle was quite nice.

Next came the cosmetics. Dark kohl was used to line her eyes, and a dark, shimmery powder covered her eyelids A dab of rouge on her lips finished the look. She really didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror now.

“Is of all this necessary?” she asked, looking over to where Josephine and Vivienne had sat down to wait.

“Of course, my dear,” Vivienne said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Appearances are everything, and you will inhabit circles where this is most expected. You must never deign to wear popular fashions, but you must _always_ appear fashionable.”

“Yes, you cannot seem to favor one country’s styles over the other,” Josephine added.

“It would be seen as a slight.”

Evelyn looked up as Leliana climbed the staircase to her quarters. She was holding a velvet bag in her hands, cinched shut with cloth-of-gold thread. Evelyn frowned. “What is that?” she asked, motioning to the bag.

The spymaster smiled and walked over, handing Evelyn the bag. “Happy naming day, Inquisitor,” she said.

Hesitantly, Evelyn took the bag and pulled it open, reaching inside to grab the contents. She gasped in delight when she pulled out a small, velvet slipper, intricately decorated with white gemstones and purple beads. The adornments made looping, floral patterns across the length of the shoe, forming a delicate rosebud over the toe.

She looked up at Leliana, mouth agape. “Thank you!” she breathed, holding the shoes close to her. “These are… they’re beautiful.” She looked back at the slippers; she didn’t dare think of how much these had cost her friend.

Leliana smiled. “Every woman deserves a pair of extravagantly expensive shoes,” she said. Evelyn looked up, raising an eyebrow. Leliana winked at her. Not for the first time, Evelyn wondered if her spymaster could read her thoughts.

She leaned down and slipped the shoes on; they fit like a pair of stockings, perfectly molding to the shape of her feet. She stood then, surveying her final appearance in her mirror. She had to admit… she looked very good. She would turn more than a few heads tonight. She blushed then, wondering if a certain _someone_ would finally notice her.

She hoped so.

Evelyn turned around then. “What do you think?” she asked the women standing before her.

“You will be taking names tonight,” Leliana said, smirking. “Though I think there is just one name you want.” Josephine hid a laugh behind her hand, but nodded. Evelyn rolled her eyes; she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that they’d figured her out. It seemed everyone had discovered her secret, save the one man she actually wanted to.

“And _slaying_ your competition,” Vivienne added.

“Competition?” Evelyn asked, frowning. “I have competition?”

“Oh yes,” the mage continued. She picked up a bottle and walked over to Evelyn, spritzing her. Evelyn choked a bit at the strong perfume, despite its pleasant smell. “The Commander is likely the most eligible bachelor in Skyhold.” Vivienne gave her a devilish smile then. “So remember, darling – don’t play fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> The next few chapters will all probably be longer than the previous ones. Though I doubt anyone complains when chapters are longer, right? haha, I've got the ending finished, and just one more chapter to write. Almost there with these two lovebirds!
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated :)


	12. Until It's Done

 

Wearing armor to a party was quickly proving to be one of the worst decisions of Cullen’s life.

It had been almost an hour since Josephine had dragged the Inquisitor away, no doubt to force her into some kind of abominable Orlesian dress. In that time, no less than six women – several of whom he swore he’d never seen before in his life – had accosted him. All of them had asked him to drink with them, several had asked him to save them a dance, and one of them had outright propositioned him. He’d politely declined all of them, of course.

But some of them were insufferably persistent. Which was why he was currently crammed into a corner behind the barrels of ale. He could just see over the top of the stack, but was hidden well enough that no one had approached him. Well, a serving girl replenishing the trays of food had given him a strange look, but Cullen wasn’t counting her.

What he _was_ counting were the minutes until Evelyn returned to the party. The jewelry box was in his pocket; he felt it acutely against his thigh, a constant reminder of what was to come. To say he was nervous would have been an understatement. He had seen enough battles that his anxiety didn’t outwardly show, but if anyone could have read his thoughts, they would have sympathized with him.

How was Evelyn going to react? What was she going to say? Would he even be able to get to her? There was no guarantee that he would get any time alone with her. This was _her_ party, after all. The guest of honor wasn't supposed to disappear from their own celebration.

“There you are!”

Cullen looked up to see Dorian peering back at him, a smirk on his lips.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, you know!” the mage continued, reaching back to drag Cullen out. “I hear you’re causing quite the stir among the ladies.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Who even are these women?” Cullen demanded, scowling at the reminder.

“Most of them snuck into the Great Hall,” Dorian replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “They’ve since been escorted out.”

“Yes, but who _are_ they?” Cullen asked. He let himself be pulled out into the main area, though he couldn’t help scanning the room once or twice, just to make sure they were really gone.

Dorian chuckled. “You weren’t aware of your numerous admirers, Commander?” he asked.

Cullen huffed. “They certainly haven’t said anything to me before tonight,” he said. “You’d think that if I had admirers, they would have said something.”

The mage laughed outright at that. “Oh, please, everyone knows you only have eyes for Evelyn,” he said when he finally regained control of himself. “They’re only confessing tonight because they know that, come tomorrow, they won’t have any chance with you.”

Cullen wasn’t aware that everyone in Skyhold was suddenly aware of his feelings. He found himself annoyed at the thought. It was no one’s business what he thought of Evelyn, or what she thought of him. Their private dealings – not that they had any of which to speak – were just that: _private_. And were anything to happen between them in the future, privacy would be of the utmost concern to him.

Dorian maneuvered them to a free alcove, and motioned for a serving girl to come over. He quickly procured them two glasses of wine and handed one to Cullen. “Liquid courage, Commander,” he said, downing his glass in one long swig.

Cullen stared down at the pale liquid in the glass. He wasn’t overly fond of wine; most of his friends in the Templar barracks had preferred ale, and so that was what he had drunk with them. Wine had a tendency to dry the mouth. He really didn’t understand the tenacity with which some nobles extolled its virtues. Who were they trying to convince, really? Themselves?

Still. Perhaps a little less inhibition would benefit him. He followed the mage’s actions and downed the glass, grimacing at the tartness.

“Have you prepared anything for tonight?”

Cullen blinked at the question, still trying to get his tongue to remember how to work after the wine’s acidity. “What do you mean?” he asked thickly. He set the glass down on a nearby table and crossed his arms over his chest.

Dorian sighed. “Cullen, don’t tell me you’re just going to _wing_ this!” he said, rather petulantly.

“Well, I haven’t written a speech or anything,” he snapped defensively. That would go well, wouldn’t it? Him pulling out a crumpled piece of paper with which to woo Evelyn once he finally got her alone? He snorted at the thought.

“Please tell me you’ve at least thought of what you’re going to say,” the mage pleaded. “After all this work, I’d hate to think nothing was going to come out of this!”

“Of course I’ve thought – wait. What do you mean, ‘all of this work’?” Cullen asked, his suspicions raised.

Dorian scoffed, grabbing another glass of wine as another server walked by. “Don’t be dense,” he admonished Cullen. He took a long drink. “You never would have taken the first step if Varric and I hadn’t practically pushed you into it.” He patted Cullen on the shoulder when the latter gave him an indignant look. “Don’t argue with me, Commander. You know I’m right.”

Cullen wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. Nor did he have to, for the room was suddenly quiet, conversations lulling and raucous laughter quieting. The only sound in the room was the gentle music wafting down from the balcony. Cullen looked around, wondering what had happened. Dorian cleared his throat then, motioning to the dais where the Inquisitor’s throne was. Cullen looked up then.

And he was lost.

Evelyn had returned to the party, flanked by Josephine and Vivienne. Both women looked good in their fancy silks and elegant poise. But Evelyn was something else entirely.

Cullen had never seen her wear a dress before. The pale lavender silk hugged every inch of her frame, from her slim hips to her firm thighs, before flaring out around her knees like a bell. The dress lacked sleeves, exposing her creamy shoulders and toned arms, and her breasts…

He swallowed, forcing himself not to stare too intently at the thin strips of fabric that showed all too well the delicate roundness of her flesh. He had to ignore the flood of heat that began to suffuse him, revealing how she was stirring his body. But it was very, very difficult.

For she was exquisite, and lovely, and more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen.

Her eyes met his then, and his breath hitched, but he was unable to look away. Was that… was she blushing? But she too wasn’t looking away, staring at him just as intently as he was at her. Her mouth fell open then, as if she wanted to speak. He took an involuntarily step towards her, ears straining for the slightest noises.

But then the hall erupted into cheers and shouts of “Happy naming day!” and the spell was broken. Evelyn blinked, looking around as if she’d just noticed the other people in the room. She smiled at them, waving to some, and Cullen looked away, painfully aware that they were not alone.

He felt a hand grab his arm, and he looked back. Dorian was smiling at him gently. “Give her some time to make the rounds,” the mage advised. “When you’re ready, just give me word, and head to the gardens.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

Cullen considered for a moment, and then nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. He made to move away, to find a quiet place where he could rehearse what few words he’d comprised.

“Good luck, Commander,” Dorian called out after him.

Cullen was grateful for his friend’s words. He would need all the luck he could get.

* * * * *

“Where in Thedas did you get this?”

Evelyn couldn’t decide whether she was more impressed or appalled. She’d opened the present the Iron Bull had presented her with some trepidation – it had been a huge crate, and there was a certain… smell about it. When she’d opened it, she’d half expected to find some dead enemy of hers neatly chopped into pieces.

But instead, she’d found a dragon’s skull, stripped of skin and muscle and boiled to a fine black sheen. It was mounted on a large wooden plaque.

The Qunari chuckled. “It was a rush job,” he admitted. “That professor from the Approach helped us a bit. He knows a guy who boils skulls for a living.”

“What a lovely job,” Evelyn said dryly.

“You can hang it on your wall,” Bull continued, gesturing with his hand. He smirked at her. “I would put it above my bed, you know. Taarsidath-an halsaam.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “You know, Bull, fighting dragons is _not_ what I think about during my private time,” she replied.

Bull chuckled at that. “Oh, I know,” he said. “You prefer to think about blonde ex-Templars.”

She scowled at him. “You know?” she demanded.

“Boss. I was Ben-Hassreth for years. What exactly do you think you can hide from me?”

Her scowl deepened. “I’d like to think that my private time remains… private,” she insisted.

He cocked his head at her, his smirk only growing wider the more flustered she grew. “Then you shouldn’t walk around making eyes at certain members of the Inquisition,” he advised.

“Right.”

Evelyn looked up as Sera walked over, a covered basket in her hands. The elf shoved the basket into Evelyn’s hands. “You’re not fooling nobody,” the elf continued. She motioned to the basket. “Hope you can use these, yeah? Got ‘em special, just for you and Cully-Wully.”

With a sigh, Evelyn pulled back the cloth covering the basket. She groaned when a bunch of plump, ripe peaches were exposed. “Sera,” she huffed, much to the elf’s delight. “Why would you get me peaches?”

“Oh, they’re not for you,” Sera said quickly. “He’s gotta practice!”

Evelyn shook his head, red staining her cheeks. “I’m sure he doesn’t need practice!” she hissed under her breath.

“Dunno,” Sera said, shrugging. “But if he needs any tips, I got plenty!” She shot Evelyn a suggestive look, laughing as her blush deepened. “Tits and naughty bits asides, though, got something else for ya.” She handed Evelyn a folded sheet of paper then, covered in the elf’s scrawling handwriting. “Stuff from my friends,” she said quickly. “Got some stuff your people could use, yeah? I got a few favors pulled, and now you got dibs on the stash.”

Evelyn took the paper, her embarrassment fading into genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Sera,” she said. “I’m sure that will help.”

“Anything does, right?” The elf smiled before backing away, no doubt to find her amusement for the evening. Evelyn was grateful that Sera hadn’t made a huge deal out of her gift; she wasn’t normally one for presents that served no immediate purpose, and while she was greatly appreciative of her many friends’ gestures, she was glad that Sera at least had thought to give her something practical.

She turned around to find Bull staring into the crowd, a heated expression on his face. She followed his gaze, and smirked when she saw a certain mage from Tevinter chatting up a rather lovely young man she vaguely recognized. “Pining from afar, Bull?” she asked innocently.

The Qunari snorted, and took a long swig of his ale. His eyes never left Dorian. “I don’t pine,” he said firmly.

She chuckled. “If you say so,” she allowed. She waited to see if he would say anything else, but he appeared far too interested in Dorian’s conversation to pay her any attention whatsoever. Figuring that her other friends deserved some attention, she made to leave Bull’s side. She couldn’t resist one final remark, though. “You know, he really does care for you,” she said quietly.

Bull’s eye darted over to her, and then flicked back to Dorian. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Damn ‘Vint’s just a natural flirt.”

* * * * *

Evelyn took the glass a passing serving girl offered her, smiling warmly at the elf. The poor thing flushed scarlet and scampered off. Evelyn frowned; she wasn’t _that_ intimidating, was she? She certainly didn’t intend to be.

She shook her head, and then looked around the Great Hall. The party was in full swing now, the first round of people having already dragged themselves off to bed, too full of wine and food to function. She’d made a circuit, thanking all of her friends for their kindness and their gifts; she’d greeted everyone with a smile, and she was happy to realize it was completely genuine. She’d then gone over to the hearth and played a few rounds of card games with Varric and Hawke, who'd mysteriously appeared just after she had. She'd promptly lost more money than was probably prudent. They had double teamed her, the bastards.

But it was her naming day. Of all the days to act frivolously, this was it.

There was one person she hadn’t seen, however. Cullen had been strangely absent; she had only seen him the one time, when she’d first entered the hall. She had thought he would seek her out afterwards; his face had been so… she hesitated to say stricken, because she didn’t like the negative connotations, but it was appropriate. She’d thought they’d had some kind of moment, a connection. They way his eyes had met hers, across the ballroom…

“Darling, there you are.”

Evelyn turned, smiling as Vivienne approached her. “Vivienne,” she said. The mage came to her side and looked out at the party, a faint smile on her lips.

“This is a fantastic success,” she said, nodding to the hall. “Our ambassador should be proud.”

“We’re lucky to have her,” Evelyn agreed.

Vivienne turned her face, studying her for a moment. “Have I ever told you about how Bastien and I met?” she asked suddenly.

Evelyn blinked in surprise. “No,” she replied. “I don’t think you have.”

“It was my very first time at court, and I was terribly nervous,” Vivienne began.

Evelyn snorted. “You? Nervous?” she asked. “I can’t imagine.”

Vivienne smiled. “It must seem odd to many,” she agreed. “I have had years to play the Game, but I had to start somewhere.“ She shook her head. “I had little money, and only three good gowns, but I made the most of them. I had decided to venture to Orlais, after all, and there was no turning back.”

“And Bastien was there to notice you,” Evelyn guessed.

“Bastien was there,” Vivienne nodded. A smile crossed her face at the memory. “Our eyes met across the crowded ballroom, and he was smitten. He didn’t leave my side the entire night.” She chuckled. “He even evaded the attempts on his life his wife made.”

“She tried to kill him?” Evelyn asked, surprised.

“Of course, darling,” Vivienne said. “It’s all a part of the Game. His attention towards me was a terrible slight to her. It was a formality, really. We grew to be great friends in time. And Bastien… oh, that dashing rogue. His wit and charm make up for every flaw he has.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“If you believe in such a thing,” Vivienne said. She laughed. “I’m not sure I do. But what we have is special, and it began that night.” She gave Evelyn a pointed look then. “I believe there is someone here that _you_ deem special.”

Evelyn flushed. “I’m not sure he feels the same way,” she admitted.

“From what I have observed, you have certainly caught his attention,” Vivienne continued. She reached a hand out then, clasping Evelyn’s. “I wish you the best, my dear. We do not often choose the responsibilities that are thrust upon us, but we can choose who helps us to alleviate the stress such duty brings.”

“And my competition?”

Vivienne laughed outright then. “Darling, have you seen yourself in a mirror?” she asked. “No one can compete with you. A few women had tried to waylay your Commander, but he has brushed them all away. He has eyes only for you, my dear.” She paused then, considering. “I believe that Dorian has cleared the way for you."

She sighed then. “Thank you, Vivienne,” she said.

“Go find him, my dear,” the mage encouraged. “He is waiting.”

* * * * * 

“You’re sure of this?”

Dorian smiled, stepping out into the gazebo. “Do you see this?” he asked, gesturing around him.

Cullen’s eyes flicked around. The gazebo had been repainted and adorned with roses, their tendrils climbing all the way to the roof. They were perfectly in bloom, red and white blossoms heavy and fragrant. Sheer fabric graced the rafters above him, and tiny tea lights were everywhere, giving the atmosphere a rosy glow. The chessboard was gone, leaving the central area empty. He had to admit, it looked very nice.

But was it too much? Was this too… he couldn’t think of the right word. Cheesy? Corny? It was romantic, the sort of thing most girls – and some men, he supposed – would swoon over. But there was a limit, a fine line between romantic and schmaltzy. He hoped that that line wasn’t being crossed here.

“This is where you are going to confess your feelings to Evelyn,” Dorian continued. “This is where you will tell her that you are falling in love with her. And this is where she will fall into your arms, and kiss you, and then you two can go ride off into the sunset together!”

“It’s after nightfall, Dorian.”

The mage sighed. “It’s a _metaphor_ ,” he snapped. “The point, my dear Commander, is that Varric and I have gone to painstaking lengths to help you with this, as your romantic endeavors with Evelyn so far have been abysmal.”

Cullen scowled at the other. “I was waiting for the right moment,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dorian sighed then, walking over to Cullen. “Commander,” he said quietly. “I don’t have as much military expertise as you. I couldn’t tell you how to properly storm a castle, or utilize siege equipment, and I certainly couldn’t draw up a battle formation to save my life. Nor do I know anything about destabilizing magical energy the way your southern Templars do. You have me beat there. But I believe that in the field of romance, I have you beat.

“So, some advice?” He pulled Cullen’s arms away from his breastplate. “Relax! You won’t make a very good impression if you look like you have a stick up your ass.” He grinned when Cullen’s scowl deepened. “And don’t make that face – it’ll give you wrinkles. And, for the Maker’s sake – _stop waiting_. Never let the fear of a bad outcome keep from trying. You don’t want to be the man standing to the side, years later, thinking about how it could have been you.”

Dorian’s words hit home; they were so close to the speech Cullen had given himself when he’d finally decided to confess to Evelyn. But hearing them from someone else lifted his sagging spirits, renewed his flagging confidence. Dorian was smiling encouragingly at him.

“I know,” he admitted softly, staring down at the ground. “I’ve just… it’s… well. I’ve not allowed myself the opportunity to get close to anyone for a good, long while. I couldn’t. Not after…” He broke off, clearing his throat. “Evelyn is the first woman I’ve wanted to be with in anything other a physical capacity in… _years_.”

“Tell her that,” Dorian suggested.

“I will,” Cullen agreed. “It’s just difficult. I was always able to talk myself out of it before. I could always find a reason not to burden her with my feelings.”

“How very _you_ of you,” Dorian said dryly. He raised an eyebrow when Cullen shot him a look, and eventually Cullen rolled his eyes.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cullen muttered.

“You’re overthinking this,” Dorian said. “That’s been the problem all along. Sometimes in life, you just have to rush into things, hoping that it will be alright. Not often, but sometimes. Now is one of those times.” He took a few steps back, towards the door to the Great Hall. “Are you ready?”

Cullen swallowed, steeling himself. Was he? Would he ever feel ready? He snorted then. Of course he wouldn’t. It was just as Dorian had said – he just had to grab the thing by the horns and get it over with. It would always seem impossible until it was done.

He looked up at the mage, who was still looking at him expectantly.

“I am.”

* * * * *

It was just before midnight.

Evelyn had almost given up on finding Cullen. She’d been searching for him since her talk with Vivienne hours earlier, and there had been no trace of him. She’d looked in all of his usual hiding places – his office, the kitchens, the soldier’s barracks. That last one had been a mistake; she’d nearly been coerced into playing a drinking game with some soldiers that involved a terrible liquor known as Dragon’s Piss. Just being in the same room with it had made her gag; she had no idea how those men were actually _drinking_ it.

She sighed, leaning her back against the cool stone of the hall. She was flushed from running around so much and was grateful for the extra support.

One last time, she looked out upon the Great Hall, hoping to find her tall, blonde Commander. Many of her friends were subdued by now, deep enough in their cups to have trouble making much noise or causing too much of a fuss. Blackwall was falling asleep on a table nearby, Josephine propped up on his shoulder, Cassandra was chatting heatedly with Varric of all people, a book propped open between them, and Sera was flinging food at anyone who wasn’t watching.

Evelyn snorted. She truly loved her friends. The Maker had greatly blessed her in that regard at least. In other regards…

Well, in other areas she wasn’t so lucky.

“Ah! There you are!”

Evelyn turned sharply to see Dorian approaching her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he said, grabbing her arm. “You are incredibly hard to track down, my dear.”

“Did you need something?” she asked. “I think Bull was looking for you earlier.”

Dorian waved a hand dismissively. “That great brute can wait,” he replied.

Evelyn smirked. “He looked a little, um, distressed to see you flirting with that other man earlier,” she teased.

“Me? Flirting?” Dorian asked, grinning over his shoulder at her. “That doesn’t sound like me at all. Are you sure you had the right handsome mage?”

She smacked his arm teasingly even as she let him drag her down the front steps and over to a side entrance to the keep. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“It’s a secret,” he whispered. He led them through several narrow passageways, finally stopping before a door that she’d never used before. It wasn’t surprising; Skyhold was such a large fortress, and whoever had built it had been a clever, secretive individual. Entire areas were excavated on an almost daily basis, uncovering more and more secrets than any of them had thought possible on their first tour.

“Really, Dorian, what is this?” she asked.

“This leads to the gardens,” the mage replied, motioning to the door. “I was asked to find you and bring you here.”

“You were asked?” Evelyn asked, eyes narrowing. What was going on here?

“Yes,” Dorian said succinctly. She thought he would say more, but when he didn’t, she sighed and pushed her way into the gardens. To her surprise, Dorian grabbed the handle behind her, slamming the door shut. She whirled around, hands searching for the lock, but of course the bastard had locked the door. Huffing, she turned back around. There was more than one way out of this garden.

But her breath caught in her throat when she finally saw the gardens.

It was beautiful. The entire area was lit with a thousand yellow candles, twinkling like fairy lights. She heard a fountain somewhere, and the scent of blooming roses flooded her senses. She inhaled sharply, sighing at the aroma. It was lovely.

Who had done this to the garden? A thought hit her then, and she froze. Had someone done this for _her_? It wasn’t impossible – this entire night had been planned out for her. What if someone had decorated the garden for her?

But who would do such a thing? And why?

Heart hammering in her chest, Evelyn stepped forward, looking for a sign that she wasn’t alone. So far, she’d heard and seen nothing. “Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?” She headed for the gazebo, the source of the beautiful rose blossoms. It was the most secluded spot, and had the best view of the rest of the gardens. If anyone else was here, they had to be there.

“Yes?”

Evelyn stopped, clenching her eyes shut for a moment. _No_. She had to be mistaking things. She shook her head, laughing a bit. Those kind of things didn’t happen in real life; they were merely a facet of her hopeless fantasies. But still…

She _knew_ that voice.

Opening her eyes, she tried to contain her soaring hopes as she crossed the remaining distance to the gazebo. It wouldn’t be him. It wouldn’t be him. It _couldn’t_ be him. No, no, it was a ridiculous notion. Her hands were trembling, eyes fixed to the ground, as she climbed the stairs. She would have to try and not look disappointed that it wasn’t _him_.

She stopped at the top of the stairs. He was there. She could feel his presence, not ten feet away from her. This was it. She was going to look up. She was going to look up, and try to not act disappointed, and hear out this person’s request. She was going to do it.

She looked up, and her breath left her lungs in one fell swoop.

“Cullen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're so inclined, tell me how I did? 
> 
> I don't like this chapter as much as some of the others. I like parts of it, but hey, we all know it's all filler to get these together, right? Haha, the rest of this story is now finished! I just need to edit it. So be on the look out for the ending! :)


	13. You Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get yo crackers, because this here chapter's full of cheese!

 

She had never seen the Commander with such an expression on his face.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was stunned, too shocked to speak. His mouth was slightly agape, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Evelyn paused then, her hands clasped together in front of her, fingers tightly laced. Was it the dress? She flushed, once again, at how revealing it was. She might as well have been wearing nothing. The silk covered her more private areas, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination, either.

“Commander,” she said lightly, unable to force herself to keep looking him in the eyes. It was too much; clearly, he was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say to her. Had coming out here had been a mistake?

“I-Inquisitor,” Cullen stammered. He took a step closer to her. “You… you look lovely tonight.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “You think so?” she asked.

He frowned. “You disagree?”

She shrugged. “It’s… a bit less fabric than I’m used to wearing,” she admitted.

He chuckled, and she found her anxiety dissipating a bit. “I believe you have Lady Vivienne to thank for that,” he replied. “Rumor has it that she got a little carried away designing your gown.”

“Carried away?” Evelyn snorted. “You could say that. I appreciate the gift, but it’s missing entire sections of fabric! I feel rather exposed.”

He studied her then, and she felt the nerves return to her stomach. His gaze was hot as his eyes flickered over her body. She licked her lips involuntarily, and he broke the eye contact, a rosy flush covering his cheeks. Cursing herself inwardly, she turned away slightly, instead looking out at the garden.

Whoever had done the decorations had outdone themselves. She wondered why no one else was out here this evening. It seemed the perfect spot for a romantic tryst. She felt a pang of loneliness, suddenly wishing she had someone to share this beautiful space with.

But then Cullen’s boot scraping the ground reminded her she wasn’t really alone.

She turned to face him again. To her surprise, he’d moved closer to her still. He was fiddling with something in his hands. She frowned; it looked to be a small black box, the kind used to store jewelry. She felt rather than heard her sharp intake of breath as she looked up at him. He refused to meet her gaze, continuing to shift the box from palm to palm.

“Cullen?” she prompted.

He looked up at her then, and she was surprised at what she saw in his eyes. There was hesitancy there, something the Commander was usually lacking. He was always so sure of himself, so confident in his actions. What was he contemplating?

“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, his hands stilling.

“A gift?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She’d been receiving gifts all evening, from her friends, from foreign nobility, even from her family. She hadn’t expected to receive one from Cullen though. The idea of receiving a gift from him… it was different in a way that she couldn’t explain.

He held the box out to her. She took it, ignoring the slight trembling in her fingers. “Thank you,” she breathed.

The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “You don’t even know what it is,” he said, his voice slightly teasing.

She let out a nervous laugh, and looked down at the box. What was inside? Her heart was beating wildly in her breast, so loud she half-thought Cullen might hear it. But no, that was absurd. She took a deep breath and lifted the top off. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark gray silk, was a lovely pair of dawnstone earrings. The purple stones were set in silverite, brilliantly cut into small squares.

She gasped in delight. How had he known dawnstone was her favorite? They were exquisite!

“Cullen-”

“I hear you like dawnstone,” he said quickly. He cleared his throat, offering her a hesitant smile.

“It’s my favorite,” she said quietly, staring down at the tiny jewels. For the second time that evening, she felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she rushed to blink them away. It was just so kind a gesture, and so thoughtful. Everyone else’s gifts had been lovely – though she still wasn’t quite sure what to do with the dragon’s head Bull had found – but this…

This was something else entirely.

Evelyn looked up then, blinking through her shining eyes. “My mother loved dawnstone,” she explained. “She had this one set of jewelry. Her mother wore them before her, and her grandmother before that. They were family heirlooms, I suppose. I always begged my mother to let me wear them, but she would laugh and tell me that I wasn’t old enough.” She paused then, a soft smile coming to her lips. “They were going to be mine, one day.”

“Did she lose them?” Cullen prompted her when she fell silent.

She laughed; it sounded watery to her ears. “In a matter of speaking,” she replied. She took a deep breath, preparing to divulge a secret that she’d not told anyone in the Inquisition. It had been too personal, too raw. But now felt like the right time, and Cullen felt like the right soul to tell. “My mother drowned, Cullen. They were christening a new boat in Ostwick, and she was wearing the jewels to look her best; it was really too stormy to go out to sea, but my father insisted. She…” She cleared her throat. “She fell overboard when the squall hit. My father never forgave himself.”

“Evelyn,” Cullen breathed, instantly at her side. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She shook her head, smiling at him. “You couldn’t have known,” she said. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

He scowled. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered. He reached to take the earrings back from her. “I’m so thoughtless!”

“Hey, now!” she said, moving the box out of his reach. He paused at the expression on her face. She smirked at him, trying to show him that she wasn’t angry – not in the slightest. “You aren’t getting these back.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want them to upset you.”

“You could never upset me by giving me a gift,” she replied softly, holding the box close to her chest. “Cullen… you have no idea how much these mean to me.” She took a hesitant step forward, not wanting him to attempt to snatch her present away again. She pressed a palm to his forearm, the metal of his bracers cold to the touch. “Thank you.”

He stared at her hand on his arm for long moments. Had she overstepped, touching him so intimately? She moved to withdraw her hand, but quick as a snake, he snatched it back with his other hand. She blinked in surprise when he didn’t let it go, but instead used it to turn the their bodies towards each other.

“There is… something else,” he murmured.

“Yes?” she asked.

For a moment, he said nothing, staring intently at the back of the hand he still grasped. He laughed then, a small nervous laugh that made her heart trill. “This is even more difficult than I thought it would be,” he admitted. His eyes flickered up to hers then; his gaze was gentle, but flames flickered behind his gold-rimmed irises. Her heart felt as if it was in her throat, and she found herself incapable of speech.

What was he going to say?

“I greatly admire you,” he said suddenly, the words coming out in a rush.

“… thank you?”

He sighed, letting her hand drop and walking off. She heard him muttering to himself darkly, but he was speaking too softly to hear precisely what he was saying. She waited, hoping he would come back and clarify what he’d meant. Sure enough, he stalked back over to her, a determined look in his eyes. “Cullen-” she began, hoping to settle his nerves. But she never had time to finish her sentence.

In one swift motion, he leaned down and captured her mouth with his. He kissed her long and hard, and she was too stunned to do anything save gape at him.

He withdrew then, drawing back enough to look at her. “I’m falling in love with you,” he declared, voice strong and sure. “I have been for months now, and I was too cowardly to do anything about it. I admire you, because you are the strongest woman I have ever met. You’re compassionate, and you care, and all the power in the world has not made you abuse it.”

Evelyn felt faint. She didn’t understand. All of those months he’d avoided her gaze, given her excuses for not spending time with her… he’d been what, scared? Frightened? Embarrassed? Did he think she would turn him away, spurn him? Surely he hadn’t been so oblivious as to think she cared nothing for him? Surely he hadn’t misinterpreted every flush he’d caused to rise in her cheeks? _Surely_ not?

“I know you might not feel the same way,” he continued, staring intently at her. “But I cannot keep it to myself any longer. It…” He swallowed then, looking away as if his courage was failing him. “It is better that you know.”

He stepped back then, and gauged her reaction. She didn’t know what he saw, for she had no control over her face at this point. In a panic, her inner voice told her to do something, say something, but she was frozen. Evidently, Cullen didn’t take that as a good sign, for he stepped back and began to walk away. That drew a reaction from her, finally, as she regained control of herself. She scowled at his retreating figure; where did he think he was going?!

You couldn’t just make a declaration like that and then… and then _leave_!

She angrily slid one of her shoes off and pelted him with it. It smacked into the back of his head, and she smiled in satisfaction as he turned around, his face shocked into surprise.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“Well, considering that you didn’t say anything, I was going to return to my office,” he huffed, reaching down to pick up her shoe. He inspected it, turning it this way and that so that the gemstones glittered in the candlelight. “Why are there diamonds on your shoes?” he asked absently. “That seems superfluous.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, coming forward to snatch the slipper out of his hands. “Not all shoes are meant to be practical, Cullen.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable though?” he asked, continuing to frown as she put the shoe back on her foot.

She scowled up at him. “Cullen, now is _not_ the time to be talking about shoes,” she said. And with that, she pulled his face back down to hers, kissing him hard. His arms were immediately there, pulling her tight against him. She gasped a little as he picked her up off the ground, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, relishing the soft golden strands in her hands. He made an appreciative sound, backing them up so that he could press her against one of the columns. The marble was cold on her back, and she shivered. He slowed his fervor then, easing his lips carefully over hers. Supporting her with his body, his hands broke free to clasp her face, tracing delicate patterns over her cheekbones as their mouths continued to move against each other.

When he finally broke away, she was trembling in his grasp, his hot breath fanning against her enflamed cheeks as he regained his breath. She found that she couldn’t look away from his eyes; they were a deep, dark shade of ochre, smoldering with emotions she couldn’t quite name. She shivered again, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“Why?” she asked quietly, bringing a hand down to cradle the back of his neck. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Why did you hide it from me?”

“I did not think you could care for me,” he admitted softly, looking down at the ground. “I… I have nothing to offer you, Evelyn. No lands, no title. I’m just a man, addicted to lyrium and doing what I can to stay afloat in this chaos.”

“Cullen. Don’t sell yourself short.” She raised her other hand, palming his cheek. Her thumb moved to caress the scar that covered his lip. She’d always wondered how he had obtained it. Perhaps now she would get to find out. “You have _everything_ to offer me.”

He kissed her again, less carefully than before but no less heated. And this time, when they broke apart, it was _she_ was who left panting, holding onto his arms for dear life.

“I was unsure,” he continued, darting in to press kisses against her lips, “of you how you felt. I could never tell whether you liked me or hated me.”

“ _Hated_ you?” she gasped as his lips moved down the line of her jaw, dangerously close to the sensitive skin of her neck. She pressed forward, trying to give him a hint, and he groaned as the motion brought their lower bodies into contact. She grabbed his head then, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” she said darkly, “you may be the most oblivious man I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

He flushed and chuckled, giving her a rather bashful look. “You may be right,” he admitted.

“ _Everyone_ knew how I felt about you,” she continued. “ _Everyone_!”

“And how do you feel about me?” he asked slowly. His hands drifted down, fingers caressing her ribs, then her hips. Her breath hitched when the leather of his gloves hit the sensitive parts of her waist. He caught the slip, and kept his hands there, stroking her skin through the fabric with feather light touches.

Evelyn snorted, bringing their foreheads together. "You are an idiot,” she said. He spluttered indignantly, and she brought a finger up to his lips to shush him. “But you are a lovely, kind, loyal, dedicated, and _damn attractive_ idiot.” She kissed him then, biting his lip a little as she pulled back. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I suppose not,” he said sheepishly. “But I had to be sure that I wasn’t… pressuring you-”

“Pressuring me?” she repeated, huffing. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me like that? How long I’ve been waiting for you to get the _fucking_ hints and touch me?”

His eyes smoldered at her words, and his grip on her hips tightened.

“Do you have _any_ idea how many times I’ve thought about this moment?” she continued, her voice low and husky. “How many times I’ve thought about _you_ , and _me_ , together?”

His lips were on hers then, tongue swiping across her lower lip, begging for entrance. She tilted her head just slightly, and brought their mouths closer together. He crushed their bodies closer, bringing their lower bodies back into contact with each other, and they both moaned at the friction it caused. She rocked into him, desperate for more contact.

A part of her should have been embarrassed that she was doing this in public. But a much larger part of her was screaming at her to keep going, to continue, to never stop.

She broke away from him with a ragged gasp, forcing him to stop. He looked up at her in surprise, eyes thick with desire. “We should take this somewhere else,” she panted. “Before someone finds us.”

He chuckled, letting his head drop to her shoulder. “Finds us?” he repeated. He slowly raised his head, staring at her. “Just what do you think we’ll be doing?”

She paused. Was he playing with her, or being oblivious again? She studied him, trying to gauge which it was. His mouth twitched then, turning up into a smile, and she knew.

“You’re teasing me,” she said, smiling. She laughed then, and he soon joined in. It was music to her ears, filling her with a sense of completeness that she hadn’t known she’d needed to have.

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“Come then, Commander,” she said, sending him a flirtatious look through her lashes. “Come to my chambers and _tease_ me some more.”

* * * * *

Evelyn still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Her luck was tantamount to a cosmic joke, some jest of the Maker. What were the odds that she would be the lone survivor of the Conclave, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor? What were the odds of her physically walking the Fade – twice! – and surviving, of going forward in time and then somehow making her way back? She’d experienced a startling number of coincidences in her life, enough so that she was beginning to think there really _had_ to be Maker, regardless of what Corypheus said. What other sort of explanation could there be?

These kinds of things didn’t _just_ happen.

And then again, for every bad event that she’d experienced, there seemed to be an equivalent good event. She’d survived closing the Breach. And then she’d survived Corypheus’ attack on Haven, survived a blizzard as she tried to reach her comrades. She’d even survived an Orlesian ball and apprehended a would-be assassin without a single drop of blood spilt.

There was a balance there, a success to counter each dreadful incident she experienced. Whatever the Maker was like, he seemed to have a sense of humor. Perhaps she should have listened to all those Revered Mothers who had told her that the Maker never gave a person more than they could bear. It certainly seemed true in her case.

Despite the promise this new theory on her luck held, however…

It still didn’t explain how she was currently being pressed up against the door to her private chamber, hot, feverish lips on hers and hard palms on her waist.

She had no explanation for this one. For once, she had no witty remark, no pithy explanation. Varric’s nickname for her, Snippy, wasn’t proving very accurate in the heat of the moment. She was at a loss for words. What bad thing had she encountered this time in order to deserve _this_?

Cullen swiped his tongue across her lower lip, and she tilted her head. He rushed into her mouth, his tongue darting out to taste every part of her. She returned the kiss with abandon, pulling his head closer to hers. There was a warm sensation in the pit of stomach, a suffusing heat that was spreading to her limbs. It made her feel like she was melting.

He pulled away then, golden-brown eyes dark with desire. She stared back, panting. How had she gotten so lucky? Cullen was easily the handsomest man in Skyhold. Except perhaps Dorian, but he wasn’t her type, and she _really_ wasn’t his.

He raised a hand, gently pushing back the hair that had fallen from her elaborate bun into her face. When he leaned down and kissed her again, slow and languorous, she thought her heart might break from how sweet it was, how soft the emotions behind the gesture were.

“Cullen,” she murmured, pulling back just enough that she could speak.

“Mmm?” His hands were teasing, moving up from her waist to the open back of the dress. Even through the leather of his gloves, his questing fingers left tendrils of fire in their wake as they climbed up to crest her shoulder blades.

“Perhaps we should take this inside?” She motioned to the door behind her.

He drew back then, a serious expression on his face. “Is that what you want?” he asked slowly.

She smiled. “Did I not make that abundantly clear in the garden?” she whispered devilishly. He flushed, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, hands tightening on her frame for a moment. He looked at her earnestly then, his sincerity shining through the naked lust in his gaze. “I do not mean to… to pressure you into anything you don’t want. If this is too fast, or too much, you have only to say the words and-”

She understood. She pushed him back then, putting enough space between them that she could see his entire face. He didn’t appear nervous, but she could tell he was anxiously awaiting her response. She could see it in the corded veins in his neck, feel it in the sudden tautness of his hands on her back.

“Cullen,” she said quietly, “For months… I didn’t know you felt this way. I thought that the most I could hope for was friendship. It was difficult, but I accepted it. I told myself that even if that was all I could have from you, then it was still worth having. Because you are a good, genuine person. And there aren’t enough of those people in my life.”

She shook her head when he opened his mouth to reply. No, this was something she needed to get out, something she needed to say before her courage failed her. Or before she made a smartass remark against her better judgment. “You know how the first sun after a harsh winter feels? You step into the light, out of the darkness, and you just feel so _warm_. You forget how hard the winter was, and all you can think about is how nice and lovely it feels at that very moment. That was how I felt, when you told me how you feel about me.”

She smiled. “I didn’t know I would ever get to feel anything like that moment,” she continued. “I haven’t exactly had the best luck.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself, before continuing. “But please believe me, when I say this… there is nothing I want more than to go into that room, together, and continue to revel in that moment. I have never been more sure of anything.”

It was all Cullen needed to hear.

His lips were back on hers, and the searing fire in her core came back to life. Her skin was too tight, too hot, and there was altogether too much fabric between them. She barely registered their movements as he opened the door behind them, steered them inside and up the stairs. The balcony doors were still open from earlier, and the cool mountain breeze flitted across her exposed skin like a caress, though it did nothing to cool the heat building within her.

It was too much. She bit down on Cullen’s lower lip, hard, and he groaned into the kiss, the noise going straight to her groin. He crushed her to his chest, gripping her hips hard enough that she feared she might have bruises in the morning. But she didn’t care; all she could feel was the pressure, the delicious pressure of him on her, him wanting her, and she loved it.

Her fingers fumbled at the straps of his armor, her experience as a warrior the only hints she had to go on, for her eyes were still clenched tight. That she couldn’t see only made the suddenness of his fingers on her bare skin that much more sensual.

Heavy steel pauldrons and bracers hit the floor, followed by the thick mantle that Cullen wore at all times. He ripped off his gloves and kicked off his boots, and then his hands were on her back, fumbling with the tiny buttons that held the silken fabric to her body. He growled in frustration as she pushed him back, eager to get his breastplate off.

“What infernal seamstress put that many buttons on your dress?” he demanded. Her eyes flew open, and she had to smile at the sheer annoyance on his face.

“Vivienne paid her _very_ well, I believe. Maybe it was for the buttons,” Evelyn replied, finishing the last buckle holding the breastplate together. Cullen lifted it off his body quicker than she would have thought possible; it clanged as it hit the floor, and she half wondered if people in the hall could hear them. But she didn’t have time to ponder, for he was pushing her back onto the bed, their bodies now flush together.

“Yet another reason to dislike the imperious Madame de Fer,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Her sense in fashion.”

The breath left her lungs as he lunged forward to press a kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat. He quickly worked his way up her neck, stopping at the bottom of her ear. She shuddered as he bit down suddenly, the sensitive skin breaking out in gooseflesh, and moaned when his tongue darted out to lave the bite, soothing the skin his teeth had inflamed.

He paused then, drawing away just enough to chuckle. The sound sent shivers down her spine. “You do look beautiful, though,” he murmured. “I’ll give your demon seamstress that.”

“Cullen.” His name slipped from her lips before she had time to register it. His mouth moved down once more, this time to pay attention to her exposed collarbones. He bit one, hard, and she cried out, fingernails scraping down his back. He growled his approval, never once stopping his ministrations.

Her hands slipped down even farther, dipping beneath the hem of his pants to grab the bottom of his shirt. She tugged on it, hard, and he sat up just long enough for her to get it off his head. Then his mouth was back on her skin. She splayed her hands across his back, letting her fingers roam across the taut muscles there as his mouth roamed across her breastbone. His body spoke of careful years of training, years dedicated to the Templar Order. Every ripple of muscle, every powerful bunching of fibers as he moved, was a testament to his loyalty, devotion, and strength.

Again, she wondered how she’d gotten so lucky that this man wanted to be _hers_.

“Your dress is in the way,” he said suddenly, pulling back to stare at her.

“Take it off, then,” she suggested.

His lips tugged up into a grin, and he pulled her up into a sitting position. “As my lady commands,” he murmured, reaching to push the fabric down her shoulders. It resisted at first – damn those buttons! – but finally gave way, sliding down her body to pool in her lap. She shivered, breasts now exposed to the cool air.

Cullen knelt in front of her, eyes taking in her body almost reverently. He stared at her for several moments, drinking in every inch of her exposed skin. She flushed under the scrutiny. It wasn’t embarrassment; the sight of him, gazing at her with such naked desire, thrilled her. No, the flush on her cheeks had all to do with the heat pooling between her thighs, and nothing to do with apprehension.

He palmed one of her breasts slowly, as if testing the waters. She moaned, arching into his touch. It was maddening, the sensation of his callused hands on her puckered nipple. He quickly zeroed in on the bud, teasing it with his fingertips. Her head fell back, another moan tearing from her lips. Taking her noises as an invitation, he brought his hand up to her other breast, massaging it.

She cried out as he swiftly replaced his hand with his mouth. Her hands darted out to grasp his head, pulling him closer to her. “ _Yes_ ,” she breathed, as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. “Just like that.”

It was very difficult not to squirm. The sensation was almost too much. How long had it been since she’d been touched like this? How long had it been since she’d touched _herself_ this way? The Inquisition hadn’t exactly given her much personal time. She’d occasionally dreamed how it would feel, Cullen touching her, loving her like this.

Reality was far better than her dreams.

She had to drag his head away from her. He looked up at her questioningly, and she drew him in for a kiss. It wasn’t fair; this was what they both wanted. Why should he be denied his pleasure?

Slowly, she moved them both into a standing position. Her dress continued to fall down her body, leaving her in nothing but her smallclothes. She continued to kiss Cullen deeply, swiping her tongue across his lower lip. Her hands drifted to his pants, removing his belt with deft fingers.

Hesitantly, she reached out to palm his arousal through his trousers. He groaned into the kiss, lips going slack as a shudder went through him. “Evelyn,” he said; it was a warning and a plea. It was all the encouragement she needed. She grasped him harder then, more sure of herself this time. His hips bucked forward into her palm, and she squeezed.

His arms gripped her tight, crushing her against him as she continued to knead the front of his trousers. His head fell to her shoulder, and he buried his face against her neck. It thrilled her to see him come so unwound, so unfettered for her. The idea that he was losing himself to pleasure because of what _she_ was doing to him sent a fresh spark of lust through her.

“You have _no_ idea-” He broke off with a ragged groan as she squeezed him again, “-how good that feels.”

She smiled. “I think I do,” she murmured. Her fingers moved up to the button of his pants. “I seem to have found a pretty good indicator of that.”

His hand caught hers just as she slipped the button through the catch. He pulled back, returning her smile. “Is that so?” he asked. He reached down between them, gently stroking her through her smalls, eyes never once leaving hers. She moaned, her eyes half-closing in pleasure. “I think I have a good indicator as well. Right here.” His teasing fingers landed on her clitoris then, and she nearly buckled.

But of course he caught her by the elbow. And then he was pushing her back to the bed, gently lowering her onto the soft down mattress. He removed her smallclothes in one motion, and drank in the sight of her body, finally fully exposed. “Breathtaking,” he murmured. Without warning, his hand was back, stroking her hard as he leaned forward to capture her mouth.

She cried out at the sheer pleasure of the sensation. She had thought that she was warm before, that her blood was already on fire. But Cullen’s touch was like magma, making her white-hot. Was this how stars felt? Was this what it was like on the sun? She could do little more than pant and give him the most basic, one-word directions as to what she wanted.

When he knelt, his hand pausing in its work, she whined at the loss of sensation. But then his mouth replaced his fingers, and she was lost.

She was reduced to a whimpering puddle, capable only of voicing her extreme satisfaction. The pressure that had been building between her legs was almost unbearable now, stoked to even higher heights by Cullen’s insistent tongue. It was heightened further when he threw one of her legs over his shoulder, pressing even deeper. The pleasure was so intense; she could feel it in her every nerve fiber. Her body was _singing_. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe-

“Cullen,” she moaned. He flicked her clitoris once more with his tongue, and she came with a strangled sigh. She sucked in air, her limbs heavy and unresponsive even as she told herself to move, to draw him closer. She barely registered the sight of Cullen removing his trousers before pushing her farther onto the bed. She couldn’t react as he climbed on top of her.

Only his feather light kisses on her lips caught her attention. She returned to the present, lust striking anew in her body as she tasted herself on his lips. Even though she’d just reached the pinnacle of desire, she wanted more, _needed_ more. He needed it too; she could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, she flipped them. Caught off guard, he landed on his back with a bewildered expression. Eyes never leaving his, she sat up and straddled him. “Evelyn-”

She shushed him. “Let me,” she said. He hesitated, and she rolled her hips. He moaned, throwing his head back in what she could only guess was assent. She grabbed his cock then, lining herself up before lowering herself down, down, _down_ , until she was full. She groaned at the sensation, the slight sting quickly overridden by the completeness.

He looked back at her as she began to move, his hands moving to grasp her hips. He helped as she lifted herself before slamming back down, rolling her hips as she did so. They fell into an easy rhythm, his hips rising to meet her before she got all the way down. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer, a whisper of accolades to worship her body.

One of his hands reached up to play with her breasts, and the other fell between them, stroking her in between his quickening thrusts. She shuddered against him, inadvertently clenching tight. She’d only just climaxed, and to be so _close_ , so on the edge again, so _soon_ … it was delicious, and it was like sin.

Her second orgasm was both shamefully quick and too long in coming.

He let out a broken moan as she came around him, flipping her over and ramming into her hard. Now that she had been sated, he let go of his restraint. He lifted up one of her legs to go in even deeper, and she cried out despite herself. She grabbed his hand, still on her breast, and twined their fingers together. He watched her movements like a hawk, and she squeezed his palm, a hazy smile on her lips.

That was enough to send him over the edge. He came with a guttural noise, barely stopping herself from falling atop her. His breathing was heavy, laborious.

She reached a hand up between them, smoothing his drenched, curling hair away from his eyes. He blinked owlishly at her before settling himself gently on top of her.

She relished the contact, the heat of his body. She couldn’t tell if his temperature was due to the near constant fever of lyrium withdrawal or if it was just him, just _Cullen_ , but she loved it. She wrapped her arms around his back, snuggling up.

“That was…” he broke off, shaking his head.

“Nice?” she suggested.

“No!” The vehemence in his voice startled her and she drew back, looking up at him in surprise. “No, I mean, that’s not right. That was more than nice.”

She chuckled. “It was euphoric,” she replied. “Dare I ask how long you’ve wanted to do that?”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Longer than I should admit,” he allowed. He rolled them so that they were on their sides, legs tangling together lazily. “Far longer than is appropriate.”

“I don’t think any part of what we just did was appropriate,” she pointed out.

He snorted. “You’re probably right,” he said. He grinned, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “But I’m not apologizing.”

“Don’t you even think of it,” she warned.

They fell into a comfortable silence, coming down from their incredible high. One of Cullen’s hands traced lazy patterns down her side, and she rubbed her ankles against his, relishing the feeling of skin on skin. She sighed then, unable to get nagging question out of her head.

“What is it?” Cullen asked.

“Who do I have to thank for this?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “This?” he repeated.

“Cullen.” She smirked.

“Are you questioning my romantic tendencies?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Well…”

“I will romance you so hard that you swoon.”

She had to laugh at that one. He flushed, but the stubborn look on his face didn’t falter. “Is that a threat, or a promise?” she asked.

“Both,” he replied, after a moment’s consideration.

“I look forward to it,” she admitted. She leaned forward, kissing him softly. When she drew back, his eyes on her were tender. So she decided to risk one more question. “But if I was to, say… thank someone… who would that be?”

He closed his eyes, and sighed. “Evelyn,” he murmured.

“Yes?”

“… Dorian and Varric.”

“… those cheeky blighters.”

* * * * *

Cullen was late to breakfast the next morning.

It was a rare occurrence, and he was sure that it wouldn’t go unnoticed by certain members of the Inquisition. But he was lucky – most people had gotten incredibly drunk last night, and thus the crowd for breakfast was lighter than usual. He grabbed a plate and his normal fare before turning to find a table.

Dorian was nursing his head over a plate of nearly untouched bread and a steaming cup of tea. He groaned as Cullen set his plate down across from him.

“Not so loudly,” the mage complained.

“Sorry,” Cullen replied, grabbing his silverware. He eyed the mage, smirking. “Late night?”

“Wine is the enemy,” Dorian moaned, forcing himself to take a drink of tea. He grimaced at the taste. “So is this tea.”

“How much did you drink?”

“A vat, maybe?” Dorian shifted on the bench and winced.

Cullen frowned, not missing the noise. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asked. It wouldn’t be the first time; Dorian was normally quite graceful, but that was without a belly full of wine.

“What?” Dorian looked up at him for the first time since Cullen had sat down. “Oh, no, no. I’m not hurt.”

“You winced. That normally means a person is sore, or hurt.”

“Yes, yes, I’m a trifle sore,” the mage sighed. “But I didn’t hurt myself. Disuse, you know.”

“What-“ Cullen flushed as he suddenly understood what Dorian was talking about. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I see.”

The mage chuckled, amused at his discomfort even through the haze of his hangover. “Do you?” he asked. He paused then, looking at Cullen thoughtfully. “You know, you came in _that_ door instead of taking your usual route.” He frowned, and then gasped in delight. “Does that mean-?!”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes?” he prompted.

Dorian leaned over the table, nearly knocking over his tea in the process. “You and Evelyn!” he whispered, his excitement clear. “You _got_ her!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cullen replied, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, come on, man, no one walks into the room looking like _that_ unless they got lucky!”

“So what if I did?”

“You did?!” Dorian’s excited intake of breath drew several stares from people sitting near them. Cullen hid his smirk in his own cup of tea. “Oh, you must tell me all about it!” The mage propped his head up on his hands, his headache clearly forgotten.

“You want me to give you details about what may or may not have gone on between Evelyn and I last night?” Cullen snorted.

“ _Evelyn_ , is it?” Dorian insisted. “Not the _Inquisitor_?”

“Dorian,” Cullen said warningly, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on, you must give me something!”

Cullen leaned forward across the table, and Dorian’s eyes positively glittered with suppressed excitement. He supposed he should at least let the mage know that his and Varric’s plans had been successful… but on the other hand, Dorian was an incorrigible gossip who would no doubt spread any rumor he was told all over Skyhold. And Cullen wasn’t sure that Evelyn wanted their relationship made public just yet, though he was sure it would get out eventually.

“Dorian.”

“Yes? Are you going to tell me?”

" _You wish_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
> This has been so much fun to write! Thanks to those of you who've stuck it out til the last few chapters to actually get to the action :) 
> 
> I thought about making the sex scene separate... but I figured the majority of readers wouldn't mind having it in the actual story. haha I'm sorry if that offended anyone or caused anyone to not want to finish the story! I know some people don't like reading sex scenes :o
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading this, and for the kind words and kudos :) It means the world to me! If you wish, feedback is always much appreciated :)


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